r? ' «-^ 



THE 



Story of a Summer; 



JOURNAL LEAVES 



FROM 



OH^PP^QXJ^. 



, BY ^ 

CECILIA . CLEVELAND. 




N E W Y O R K : 
G. W, Carkton & Co., Publishers. 

LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO. 



M.DCCC.LXXIV. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by 

G. W. CARLETON & CO., 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



Stereotyped at the 

women's printing house, 

56, 58 and 60 Park Street, 

New York. 



To 



MY DEAR COUSINS, 



IDA AND GABRI ELLE 



STORY OF A SUMMER 



IS APPECnONA.TELY 



Jlcbirattb. 




i# 



This little volume is in no sense a work of the im- 
agination, but a simple record of a pleasant summer's 
residence at Chappaqua, embracing many facts and in- 
cidents heretofore unpublished, relating to one who 
once occupied a large portion of the public mind. 
Believing that it may interest many who care to know 
more of that portion of his busy life which was not 
seen by the public, but which pertained to his home 
circle, the author has been persuaded to print what was 
written merely for the amusement of herself and 
friends. 



CONTENTS, 



CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

Return to Chappaqua— A Walk over the Grounds — The 
Side-hill House — Our First Sunday at Chappaqua — 
Drive to Mount Kisco — A Country Church — A 
Dame Chatelaine — Our Domestic Surroundings 13 

CHAPTER 11. 
Arrival of the Piano — Routine of a Day — Morning Toi- 
lettes — The Dining-room — Pictures — Ida and Ga- 
brielle — How occupied — The Evening Mail — Musical 
Evening 21 

CHAPTER III. 

An Unexpected Visit — Morning Drives — Gabrielle's Ponies 
— A Repulsive Object — A Visitor — The King of 
Sweden's Soup — Advantages of a Royal Kitchen — 
Startling Experience — Ida's Letters — Strange Con- 
tents — A Lucky Stone — Request for a Melodeon — 
Offers of Marriage — Arrival of a Suitor — Reasons 
why he should marry Ida Greeley — He proves a 
Lunatic — He is taken before a Magistrate — He is 
lodged in the County Jail 28 

CHAPTER IV. 
A Visit from Papa — A Musical Squirrel — Letters — Cro- 
quet — Extracts from Letters — Visitors — The Loss of 
the Missouri — The True Story of Ida's Engagement 46 

CHAPTER V. 
Sunday in the Country — Proximity of a Meeting-house 
— How we pass our Sundays — The House in the 
Woods — Ida's Glen — Mrs. Greeley's Favorite Spring 
— The Children's Play-house — Gabrielle's Pets — 
Travelling in 1836— New York Society — Mr. Gree- 
ley's Friday Evenings — Mrs. Greeley as a Bride — 
Her Accomplishments — A Letter concerning Mr. 
Greeley's Wedding 58 

CHAPTER VL 

Visitors — Our Neighbors — The Chappaqua Croquet Club 



lO Contents. 

PAGR 

— Gabrielle's Letter — A Riding Party— Summer Heat 

— The Music-room — Friends from the City 74 

CHAPTER VII. 
Midsummer Day — An Artist's Visit — Ida's Letter — ■ 
Moonlight on Croton Lake — Morning Readings — 
Plato and Kohlrausch 81 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Story-telling — Mr. G-reeley's Father — His Personal Ap- 
pearance — His Education — A Fine Voice — Mr. Gree- 
ley's Mother — A Handsome Woman — How she is re- 
membered in Vermont — Field Labor — Bankruptcy 
— A Journey to Vermont — School Days — The Boy 
Horace — How he entertained his Playmates — His 
First Ball — Separation from his Family 87 

CHAPTER IX 
A Picnic at Croton Dam — The Waterworks — A Game of 
Twenty Questions — Gabrielle as a Logician — Evan- 
geline's Betrothal— Marguerite's Letter — Description 
of Chappaqua — Visitors — Edmonia Lewis 100 

CHAPTER X. 
Catalogixing the Library — A Thousand Volumes — Con- 
trasting Books — Some Rare Volumes — Mr. Gree- 
ley's Collection of Paintings — Authenticity of the 
Cenci Questioned — A Portrait of Galileo — Portrait 
of Martin Luther — Portrait of Mr. Greeley at Thirty 
— Powers' Pros'^rpine — Hart's Bust of Mr. Greeley — 
Mosaics and Medallions Ill 

CHAPTER XI. 
The Fourth of July — A Quaker Celebration — The House 
in the Woods — Mrs. Greeley's Life there — Pickie — 
Mary Inez — Raffie — Childhood of Ida and Gabrielle 
— Heroism of Mrs. Greeley — The Riots of 1868 — 
Mrs. Greeley defends her House against the Mob. . . 125 

CHAPTER XIL 
Pen Portraits — Lela — Majoli — Guerrabella and Celina— 

Their Characteristics 135 

CHAPTER XIII. 
Biography of Mr. Greeley — Gabrielle' s Questions — 



Contents. 1 1 

PAGE 

Mrs. Cleveland's Corrections — The Boy Horace not 
Gawky, Clownish, or a Tow-head — His Parents not 
in Abject Want — Mr. Greeley's Letter about his 
Former Playmates — Young Horace and his Girl 
Friends — He Corrects their Grammar and Lectures 
them upon Hygiene — He disapproves of Corsets 142 

CHAPTER XIV. 
The Morning Mail — A Letter to Mrs. Cleveland — Strange 
Contents — Ida's Letter Bag — Appeals for Money, 
for Clothing, and for her Hand — An Original Letter 
from a Trapper 153 

CHAPTER XY. 
Life in the Woods of Pennsylvania — Journey from Ver- 
mont to Pennsylvania in 1820 — Travelling on Canal- 
boats — Incidents by the Way — Home in the Wilder- 
ness — Aggressions of Bears and Wolves 167 

CHAPTER XVI. 
A Birthday — A Surprise — The Day celebrated by a Din- 
ner — An Awkward Mistake — A Queen of Fashion — 
A Drive to Tarrytown — A Poem to Ida 181 

CHAPTER XVII. 
Gabrielle and her Embroidery — Life in Pennsylvania 
continued — Sugar-making — Horrible Incident — A 
Woman devoured by Wolves — A Domestic Picture — 
Evening Readings — The Library of Mr. Greeley's 
Father — Mr. Greeley's Mother intellectually con- 
sidered — Her Education — Mr. Greeley's Eldest Sis- 
ter — She teaches School at the Age of Twelve 189 

CHAPTER XVIII. 
Visitors — A Sunday Drive — Croton Lake by Daylight — A 
Sail — A Sudden Squall — Anxiety about our Fate — 
Miraculous Escape from Drowning — Arrival of a 
Pretty Cousin— A ChUd Poetess 204 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Mr. Greeley visits his Family in Pennsylvania — He ex- 
pounds Mathematics and Philosophy to his Brother 
and Sisters — Fishing and Bee Hunting — Forest 



12 Contents. 

PAGE 

Fires — A Subsequent Visit — He returns as Editor 
of the Neio Yorker — He writes the ' Faded Stars ' 
— Characteristics of Mr. Greeley's Brother — His 
Children — Mr. Greeley's Younger Sisters — Their 
Education 313 

CHAPTER XX. 

A Quiet Household — Absence of Marguerite and Gabri- 
elle — Amusing Letters from them — A Gypsy Fort- 
une-teller — Marguerite returns with a Visitor — The 
Harvest Moon — Preparing for Company — Arranging 
the Blue Room — Intense Anticipation — " ' He Com- 
eth Not,' She Said " 226 

CHAPTER XXI. 

The Story of Mr. Greeley's Parents continued — He ac- 
companies his Mother to New Hampshire — Her Sis- 
ters — Three Thanksgivings in One Year — Pickie as 
a Baby — His Childhood — Mrs. Greeley's Careful 
Training — His Playthings — His Death — A Letter 
from Margaret Fuller 236 

CHAPTER XXII 
The Friends' Seminary — The Principal Chappaqua Resi- 
dences — Reminiscences of Paris during the War — 
An Accomplished Lady — Her Voice — Festivities — A 
Drive to Rye Lake — Making Tea on the Beach — A 
Sail at Sunset — Fortune -telling by Firelight — The 
Drive Home — Sunday Morning — A Row on the 
Pond — Dramatic Representations in the Bam — A 
Drive to Lake Wampus — Starlight Row 247 

CHAPTER XXIIL 
Marriage of a Cousin — A Pretty Bride — Letters — Home 
Circle Complete — A Letter of Adventures — Wedding 
Cards — A Musical Marriage — Housekeeping under 
Difficulties — Telegraphic Blunders — A Bust of Mr. 
Greeley — More Visitors 258 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

"All that's Bright must Fade " — Departures — Preparing 
the House for the Winter— Page's Portrait of Pickie 
— Packing up — Studious Habits of the Domestics — 
The Cook and her Admirers— Adieu to Chappaqua. . 266 



THE STORY OF A SUMMER 



OR, 



JOURNAL LEAVES FROM CHAPPAQUA. 



CHAPTER I. 



Return to Chappaqua — A Walk over the Grounds — The Side- 
hill House — Our First Sunday at Chappaqua — Drive to 
Mount Kisco — A Country Church — A Dame Chatelaine — 
Our Domestic Surroundings. 

Chappaqua, Westciiester Co., 

New York, May 28, 1873 

Again at dear Chappaqua, after an absence of 
seven months. I have not the heart to journalize to- 
night, everything seems so sad and strange. What a 
year tliis has been — what bright anticipations, what 
overwhelming sorrow ! 



14 A Walk. 

May 80. 

I have just returned from a long ramble over the 
dear old place; first up to the new house so pict- 
uresquely placed upon a hill, and down through the 
woods to the cool pine grove and the flower-garden. 
Here I found a wilderness of purple and white lilacs, 
longing, I thought, for a friendly hand to gather them 
before they faded ; dear little bright-eyed pansies, and 
scarlet and crimson flowering shrubs, a souvenir of 
travel in England, with sweet-scented violets striped 
blue and white, transplanted from Pickie's little gar- 
den at Turtle Bay long years ago. 

Keturning, I again climbed the hill, and unlocked 
the doors of the new house ; that house built expressly 
for Aunt Mary's comfort, but which has never yet 
been occupied. Every convenience of the architect's 
art is to be found in this house, from the immense, 
airy bedroom, with its seven windows, intended for 
Aunt Mary, to a por^e cochere to protect her against 
the inclemency of the weather upon returning from a 
drive. But this house, in the building of which she 
took so keen an interest, she was not destined to 
inhabit, although with that buoyancy of mind and 
tenacity to life that characterized her during her long 
years of weary illness, she contemplated being carried 
into it during the early days of last October, and even 
ordered fires to be lighted to carry ofl" the dampness 
before she tried her new room. By much persuasion, 



Going to Church. 15 

however, slie was induced to postpone her removal from 
day to day ; and finally, as she grew weaker and weaker, 
she decided to abandon that plan, and journey to 
New York while she could. In two weeks more she 
had left us forever. 

June 1. 

Our first Sunday at Chappaqua. We have a little 
church for a next-door neighbor, in which services of 
difierent sects are held on alternate Sundays, the 
pulpit being hospitably open to all denominations ex- 
cepting Papists. Three members of our little house- 
hold, however — mamma. Marguerite, and I — belong 
to the grand old Church of Rome ; so the carriage was 
ordered, and with our brother in religion, Bernard, the 
coachman, for a pioneer, we started to find a church 
or chapel of the Latin faith. At Mount Kisco, a 
little town four miles distant, Bernard thought we 
might hear Mass, " but then it's not the sort of church 
you ladies are used to," he added, apologetically ; 
" it's a small chapel, and only rough working people 
go there." 

I was quite amused at the idea that the presence of 
poor people was any objection, for is it not a source 
of pride to Catholics that their church is open alike to 
the humblest and richf^st ; so with a suggestive word 
from Bernard, Gabrielle's spirited ponies flew 

" Over the hills, aaid far away." 



1 6 Whit- Sunday. 

A. perpetual ascent and descent it seemed — a dusty 
road, for we are sadly in want of rain, and few shade- 
trees border the road ; but once in Mount Kisco, the 
novelty of the little chapel quite compensated for the 
disagreeable features of our journey there. A tiny 
chapel indeed — a plain frame building, with no pre- 
tence to architectural beauty. It was intended origi- 
nally, I thought, for a Protestant meeting-house, as 
the cruciform shape, so conspicuous in all Catholic- 
built churches was wanting here. The whitewashed 
walls were hung with small, rude pictures, represent- 
ing the Via Crucis or Stations of the Cross, and the 
altar-piece — not, I fancy, a remarkable work of art in 
its prime — had become so darkened by smoke, that I 
only conjectured its subject to be St. Francis in 
prayer. 

Although it was Whit-Sunday the altar was quite 
innocent of ornament, having only six candles, and a 
floral display of two bouquets. The seats and kneel- 
ing-benches were uncushioned, and the congregation 
was composed, as Bernard said, entirely of the work- 
ing class; but the people were very clean and re- 
spectable in their appearance, and fervent in their 
devotions as only the Irish peasantry can be. 

The pastor, an intelligent young Irishman, appar- 
ently under thirty, had already said Mass at Pleasant- 
ville, six miles distant, and upon arriving at Mount 
Kisco he found that about twenty of his small con- 



The Parish Priest. 17 

gi'egation wished to receive Communion, as it was a 
festival ; consequently, he spent the next hour not 
literally in the confessional, for there was none, but 
in the tiny closet dignified by the name of a vestry. 
From thence, the door being open, we could with 
ease, had we had nothing better to do, have heard all of 
the priest's advice to his penitents. 

This ceremony over, the young Father came out in 
his black cassock, and taking up his vestments which 
lay upon the altar-steps, he proceeded with the utmost 
nonchalance to put them on, not hesitating to display 
a long rent in his surplice, and a decidedly ragged 
sleeve. 

The Mass was a Low one, and the congregation 

were too poor to have an organ or organist. Quite a 

contrast to a Sunday at St. Stephen's or St. Francis 

Xavier's, but the Mass is always the same, however 

humble the surroundings. 

June 3. 

We are unusually fortunate, I think, in our do- 
mestic surroundings. Servants are proverbially the 
hete noire of American ladies, and the prospect of 
having to train some unskilled specimens of foreign 
peasantry weighed heavily, I fancy, upon our beauti- 
ful Ida in her new responsibility of a young Dame 
Chdtelaine. However, we have been, as I said, sin- 
gularly successful in obtaining servants. 

To my great delight, there is not one ugly name in our 



1 8 OiLV Household. 

little household, although composed of eight members, 
commencing with Queen Esther, as mamma has been 
named ; then we four girls — la Dame Chatelaine, with 
her fair face, dark, pensive eyes, and modest dignity ; 
Gabrielle, or Tourhillon, our brilliant pet, and the 
youngest of our quartette, although her graceful figure 
rises above the rest of us ; my sister Marguerite, la 
Gentille Demoiselle j and I, Cecilia. 

Then come the household retinue : Bernard, the 
coachman, already introduced, a smart-looking young 
Irishman, whom the maids always find very beguiling ; 
Lina, the autocrat of the kitchen, a little, wiry- 
looking woman from Stockholm, formerly cook, so 
she says, to King Charles of Sweden; and Minna, 
the maid. 

Minna is a pretty young Bavarian, who has been 
only fifteen days in the Land of Liberty, br.t she has 
already learnt, I am amused to see, not to address a 
lady as ** gnddige Frau," or " Fraulein " — a style of 
address imperative in South Germany from a maid to 
her mistress. Minna has not, however, imbibed all 
of the democratic principles that will, I fear, come to 
her only too soon, for she has not yet learnt to emu- 
late her mistress in dress. It is really quite refreshing 
to see a servant dressed as a servant. Minna is the 
perfection of neatness, and her plain stuflf or print 
gowns are sans reproche in their freshness. In the 
matter of aprons she must be quite reckless, for they 



Our Bavarian Maid. 19 

always look as if just from the ironing-table. They 
are made, too, in an especially pretty fashion that I 
have never before seen out of Munich. Scorninfr 
chignons, Minna appears with her own luxuriant 
hair in massive braids wound about her well-shaj^ed 
head, and as to-day is Sunday and a Fest-tag, she 
adorns herself with a large shell-comb. She has very 
pretty, coquettish ways, that have already melted the 
lieart of our hitherto unsusceptible Bernard, and it is 
quite charming to hear her attempts to converse with 
him in her broken English. 

Minna came to me this morning directly after 
breakfast, and said, " Where shall I go to church, 
Friiulein Cecilia ? " 

" I do not really know, Minna," I replied. " You 
are a Lutheran, I suppose ? " 

" Yes, Fraulein Cecilia." 

" There is no church of that sort here," I said, 
" but there is a Reformed Church next door." 

With a very doubtful expression, she said : " I will 
see, Fraulein. And hitte, is not the Pfingsten a Fest- 
tag in America ? In our country, you know, it is more 
than Sunday, and the people always amuse themselves." 

I explained to her as clearly as I could, that Pfing- 
sten (Whit-Sunday) was only a Fest-tag in her churcli, 
mine, and the Church of England, and that it was 
never in this country a Fest-tag, outside of the relig- 
ious observance. 



20 PJingsten. 

A very perplexed face was the result of my expla- 
nations ; why Pfingsten should not be Pfingsten the 
world over, and a public holiday with all sorts of 
merry-makings, she could not understand. 



CHAPTER II. 

Arrival of the Piano — Routine of a Day — Moming Toilettes 
— The Dining-room — Pictures — Ida and Gabrielle — How 
occupied — The Evening Mail — Musical Evenings. 

June 4. 

Yesterday the piano was sent \ip from Stein way's, 
where it has been stored since last fall, and now we 
have all settled to our different occupations, and are 
as methodical in the disposition of our time as though 
we were in school. 

None of us are very early risers, for mamma, who 
should naturally set us a good example, has been too 
long an invalid to admit of it, and we girls have be- 
come habituated to the luxury of breakfasting in bed, 
from residence abroad and in the tropics. Not that 
we breakfast in bed at the " Villa Greeley," however ; 
we are much too sociable, and our dining-room is too 
attractive, for that. But we gratify our taste for 
reasonable hours by assembling around the table at 
half-past eight. 

" Shocking ! " I fancy I hear Katie exclaim. " I 
breakfast at least two hours earlier. How can you 
bear to lose so much of the beautiful morning ? " 

Don't imagine, dear Katie, that I sleep till half- 



22 Early Rising, 

past eight : you must know the wakeful temperament 
of our family too well for that. I find it, however, 
very poetic and delightful to listen to the matins of 
the robins, thrushes, and wrens, from my pillows; 
and by merely lifting my head I have as extended a 
panorama of swelling hills and emerald meadows, as 
though promenading the piazza. 

I have been in my day as early a riser as any one 
— even you, dear Katie, have not surpassed me in 
this respect ; for you recollect those cold winter days 
when I arose at *' five o'clock in the morning," not, 
however, to meet Corydon, but to attack the Gradus 
ad Parnassum of Clementi by gaslight, in my desire 
to accomplish eight hours of practice undisturbed by 
visitors. At seven, however, I used to meet with an 
interruption from my German professor. Poor man ! 
I now pity his old rheumatic limbs stumbling over 
the ice and snow to be with me at that unreasonable 
hour of the morning. But I then was ruthless, and 
would not allow him even five minutes grace, for my 
time was then regulated like clockwork, and a delay 
of a few moments would cause an unpardonable gap 
in my day. Now, however, that my education is 
nominally finished, I feel that I may without self- 
reproach indulge in some extra moments of repose, 
for it is impossible for one to work all the time ; 
and a quiet hour of reflection is often, I think, as 
useful as continual reading or writing. 



Morning Toilettes. 23 

We indulge in very simple morning toilettes here, 
as we have no gentleman guests for whom to dress, 
nor ladies to criticise us; consequently a few brief 
moments before the mirror suffice to make us present- 
able. A black print wrapper made Gabrielle-fashion, 
with our hair brushed off plain from our faces, and 
flowing loosely a la helle saiivage, or in cool braids, is 
the order of the day. Even Marguerite, who is the most 
conventional of our quartette, has conformed to the 
fashion reigning here, and no longer coiffed in the 
stylish Imperatrice mode, her sunny brown hair 
floats over her shoulders unconfined by hair-pins, 
cushions, or rats. Truly we live in Arcadian sim- 
plicity, for under our roof there are neither curling 
nor crimping irons, nor even a souj^on of the most 
innocent poudre de riz. 

At half-past eight a little hand-bell, silver in mate- 
rial and tone, summons us to the breakfast-room. 
This room is on the gi'ound floor, and is one of the 
prettiest in the house. Four windows give us an 
extended view of our Dame Chatelaine's sloping 
meadows and wooded hills, and the carriage road 
winding off towards the pine grove and the house in 
the woods. We have several pictures on the walls — 
first a portrait of my dear uncle ; a boyish face with 
fair hair, deep blue eyes, and an expression angelic in 
sweetness. No one would imagine it to be the face of 
a married man, but it was painted, mamma says, when 



24 Pictures. 

he was thirty years old. Two large and admirable 
photographs, taken early last summer, hang opposite 
it. A striking contrast they are to the pensive, fra- 
gile, blonde boy ; these are impressed with the vigor 
and mental and physical activity of his busy life, but the 
broad intellectual brow, and the almost divine expres- 
sion that plays about the mouth, are the same in each. 
An engraving from a picture by Paul Delaroche, 
the Archangel Gabriel — the "patron," in Catholic 
parlance, of our little Gabrielle — hangs between the 
windows, and over the comfortable sofa is a copy of 
Liotard's celebrated pastel " la belle Chocolatiere " in 
the Dresden Gallery. This copy Aunt Mary bought 
in that city when there some years ago, and it is con- 
sidered wonderfully fine. "Very pretty and coquet- 
tish she looks in her picturesque Vienna dress, with 
the small, neatly-fitting cap, ample apron, and tiny 
Louis Quinze shoes. In her case 

'' My face is my fortune," 
was exemplified, and so pretty and modest is her 
demeanor that it is no wonder that Count Dietrich- 
stein, haughty nobleman though he was, married her. 
She is very different, however, from the chocolate 
vendors whom I have seen in the streets of Paris. I 
don't think a nobleman would ever raise one of them. 
from their original station, for they are as a rule past 
fifty, and ugly and withered as only a Frenchwoman 
of that age can be. 



Routine of a Day. 2$ 

Breakfast is followed by a turn upon the piazza, a 
little stroll to the spring, near which delicious wild 
strawberries nestle in a background of sweet clover, 
bright buttercups, and field daisies, or a game of croquet 
under the grand old oak-trees 

"After the sun has dried the dew." 
Then we separate, each to our own room, and our dif- 
ferent occupations. 

Ida is very busy now, for she is preparing a volume 
for publication in the fall — her dear father's manu- 
script lectures and letters. 

Gabrielle throws herself upon a sofa, and lies there 
motionless, absorbed in the fascinating pages of some 
favorite book ; indeed, she is so quiet that in my 
periodical fits of tidiness I often seize a print or bom- 
bazine frock, thrown, as I suppose, carelessly upon the 
bed or sofa, and only by its weight do I discover that 
it is animated. Last year, Gabrielle's favorite site for 
reading was in the dear old apple-tree close beside the 
house; but since she has attained tlie dignity of six- 
teen and train dresses, she has abjured the apple-tree. 

Marguerite is translating a volume from the German, 
Musikalische 3Idrche7i, and I divide my time between 
the piano and occasional newspaper articles. 

But it is already one o'clock and dinner hour. 
The afternoon passes much like the morning. We 
have letters to write, and much reading aloud. I have 
two books in progress — Plato's " Dialogues," and 



26 Musical Evenings. 

Madame de Stael's incomparable " Germany : " the lat- 
ter I read aloud while in Munich, hut it is a work that 
cannot be too often studied. 

At half-past six we dress and go down to the post- 
office (about a hundred yards distant) for the evening 
mail. Half an hour later we sup, and then follows, 
as L. E. L. would say, " a struggle and a sacrifice." 
What could be more delicious than a game of croquet, 
or a drive in the cool twilight? But Chappaqua, 
lovely though it is, possesses a malaria that is danger- 
ous after sunset, they say, and much as I love to drive 
when Nature is bathed in the last ruddy flush of day, 
and during the soft gray hour that succeeds it, I must 
heed the prediction of cliills to all who indulge. 

The evening is always devoted to music. Both Ida 
and Gabrielle are very fond of the piano, and Ida is 
rapidly becoming quite proficient in the divine art. 
She commenced the study of music when a little child, 
under an excellent teacher, and also took lessons while 
in boarding-school ; but one studies the piano under dif- 
ficulties while in the routine of a pensionnat^ for the 
hour devoted to it must be taken from one's recreation 
time, or from some other lessons. Our friends will 
remember, too, that dear Ida was taken out of school 
while yet very young, to become the devoted nurse that 
she has since shown herself to her mother, and from 
the time she left the Sacre Gceur until this spring she 
has never opened the piano. Now, however, she 



Gabrielle s Studies. 27 

practises regularly and conscientiously, and brings to 
her music all the enthusiasm of her loving nature, and 
the intelligence of her suj)erior mind; consequently, 
when her fingers are well trained, I shall expect to see 
her a thoughtful and brilliant pianist. 

Gabrielle is still in the tedious preliminary steps, 
for Geometry and Latin, rather than the Hhytlime des 
Doigts and the Ecole de la Velocite, have hitherto en- 
gaged her attention ; but time will show. 



CHAPTER III. 

An Unexpected Visit — Morning* Drives — G-abrielle's Ponies — • 
A Repulsive Object — A Visitor — The King of Sweden's 
Soup — Advantages of a Royal Kitchen — Startling Experi- 
ence — Ida's Letters — Strange Contents — A Lucky Stone — 
Request for a Melodeon — Offers of Marriage — Arrival of a 
Suitor — Reasons why he should marry Ida Greeley — He 
proves a Lunatic — He is taken before a Magistrate — He is 
lodged in the County Jail. 

June 5. 

An unexpected visit yesterday from Mr. O'Dwyer, 
a member of The Tribune staff, and for several years 
dear uncle's private secretary. 

Mamma had invited Mr. O'Dwyer to come out and 
pass a quiet day with us, and had appointed Wednes- 
day for the visit. Desirous of a little excitement, 
and already somewhat weary of our nun-like simplicity 
of toilette, we decided to do honor to our guest by 
dressing our hair quite elaborately, and attiring our- 
selves, despite the heat, in our best bombazines with 
their weight of crape. We were assembled in the 
dining-room after our early dinner, discussing, in our 
plain print wrappers and Marguerite braids, our plans 
for the morrow, when Minna announced : 

*' A visit, Madame ; a gentleman." 



An Embarrassing SitiLation. 29 

" Probably a neighbor upon business," said mamma 
to us ; " show him in here, Minna." 

The door opened, and enter the guest for whom, in 
imagination, we were making such extensive prepara- 
tions. 

A very expressive glance was telegraphed around 
our circle. I was engaged in the domestic occupation 
of hemming one of papa's handkerchiefs, and although 
Hawthorne draws so pretty a picture of the beautiful 
Miriam while engaged in " the feminine task of mend- 
ing a pair of gloves," with all deference to the poet's 
taste, I consider the beguiling little scraps of canvas 
or kid which I produce when company is present, 
much more attractive than plain sewing. 

In a moment the surprise was explained. Mr. 
O'Dwyer had received orders to represent The Tri- 
hune somewhere, the following day, just in time to 
catch the Pleasant ville express, and run out to tell us 
that he could not come at the time appointed. 

" The circumstances were trying," we said to each 
other, after his departure ; but imagine, girls, how 
much worse they would have been, had the visitor 
been a lady ! As long as a wrapper is black, I very 
much doubt if a gentleman would know it from an 
afternoon dress. 

June 8. 

The usual routine of our morning occupations has 
been somewhat broken of late, for these June days 



30 Gabrielle's Poiiies. 

are too perfect to be spent within doors, even with 
such grand companions as Plato or Beethoven. We 
plan charming hours to be spent in the pine grove, 
where Marguerite will read to us a chapter or two of 
Kohlrausch's " Germany," and Ida will give us a few 
pages of Taine's brilliant " Angleterre ;" but as we are 
starting with camp chairs, books, and work, Bernard 
approaches : 

" Any orders. Miss ? " 

Frail mortals are too weak to resist, and in a few 
moments we are seated in Ida's stylish new phaeton ; 
and Gabrielle's irrepressible ponies, under the guid- 
ance of Tourbillon herself, are dashing away at a pace 
that terrifies our sober Quaker neighbors beyond 
expression. Mamma has been solemnly warned 
against allowing Gabrielle to drive " those fearful 
horses ;" but we all share our pretty Tourbillon's fond- 
ness for a tourbillon pace, and know well the strength 
she possesses in her little wrists, and the coolness she 
could exercise were there any danger. 

While returning from a charming drive upon the 
Sing Sing road, a day or two since, the horses, whose 
spirits were unusually high, shied suddenly at some- 
thing dark by the roadside. By a dexterous manage- 
ment of the reins, Gabrielle quickly subdued them, 
and we all looked to see what had startled them. An 
object was crouching in the grass, evidently human, 
but of what sex or nationality it was impossible in 



A Supposed Cojivict. 31 

one swift glance to determine ; and it was quite amus- 
ing to hear our different opinions as we drove on. 

*' I think," said mamma, " that it was an enormous 
woman, with a baby in her arms, but I really cannot 
be sure, for I only looked at the face — such a hideous, 
repulsive face. I shall dream of it to-night, I am 
convinced." 

** A woman ! " said Marguerite. " My impression 
was of a very murderous-looking man — an Indian, I 
thought, he was so very dark." 

Gabrielle's view of the case differed from the others. 
The creature had, she said, a heavy black beard, which 
was un-Indian-like, and was garbed in a dark calico 
gown with open sleeves, through which she plainly 
perceived a pair of unmistakably muscular, masculine 
arms. In the words of Macbeth — 

" You should be woman, 
And yet your beard forbids me to interpret 
That you are so." 

Neither Marguerite nor Gabrielle had seen the 
baby, and Gabrielle's conclusion that this frightful 
being was a convict who had escaped from Sing Sing 
disguised as a woman, was quite logical. 

" Chappaqua is certainly in unpleasant proximity to 
Sing Sing," I said with a shudder, for I have not 
many elements of a heroine about me. 

" Yes," was mamma's cheerful rejoinder, '^ and you 



32 Preparing for Company. 

know we were told yesterday that one or two of the 
most dangerous convicts had recently escaped, and had 
entered several houses in Chappaqua — to say nothing 
of Mr. O'Dwyer's report that that dreadful Captain 
Jack has escaped, and is known to be lurking in the 
neighborhood of our peaceful little village." 

" Pray let us change the subject," I entreated, " or 
between convicts and Modocs I shall have the night- 
mare for a month." 

June 9. 

We have just said good-by to Senor Delmonte, of 
Hayti, who has gone down on the 4.45 train, after 
passing, I hope, a j^leasant day with us. 

We have led such a quiet life since last fall, that a 
visit from a friend is a very pleasant excitement, and 
with the assistance of our invaluable Minna and Lina, 
there is nothing to be dreaded in the preparations. 
Then, too, it is so pleasant to unpack the superb linen 
that Aunt Mary bought abroad — the heavy damask 
table-cloths with their beautiful designs, and the im- 
mense dinner napkins, protecting one's dress so admira- 
bly against possible accident — and to take out the ex- 
quisite silver and Sevres ; everything is perfection, even 
to the little gold, lily-shaped hand-bell. Afterwards 
we go to gather flowers in all their morning freshness, 
and if it is ten o'clock, we walk down to the station 
to meet the New York train. 

Senor" Delmonte is a very agreeable gentleman, and 



A Cordon Bleu. 33 

quite a favorite in New York circles. In figure he 
rises far above ordinary humanity, six feet two inches 
being, I believe, his exact height — and his very dark 
complexion and stately gravity render him quite con- 
spicuous in a drawing-room. He is reported extremely 
wealthy. 

Upon returning from a drive on the Pleasantville 
road with Sefior Delmonte, Ida ran down to the kit- 
chen for a moment, to see if harmony reigned there 
(for Lina and Minna are not, I regret to say, becom- 
ing warm friends ; but more of that to-morrow). Ida 
rarely troubles the cook with her presence, for Lina, 
like all cordons hleus, is a great despot, and impatient 
of surveillance / but as she can be trusted to arrange 
an entire menu without any hints from Ida, la Dame 
Chatelaine gladly leaves the responsibility to her. 
What therefore was my surprise to see Ida return 
from her visit downstaii'S with an unmistakable look 
of anxiety upon her pretty face, and beckon me out 
of the music room where we were sitting. 

" What do you think, Cecilia ? " she announced, in 
despairing accents. " Lina has made a soup of sour 
cream, which is now reposing in the ice-box ! " 

" Of what f " I said, scarcely crediting her words, 
and running down to the kitchen. 

Lina's feelings were considerably ruffled that her 
young mistress did not appreciate the soup, which she 
considered a triumph of art, and which consisted of 



34 King of Sweden's Soup. 

sour cream, spices, and a little sugar — to be eaten, of 
course, cold. 

"Nice soup," she said, in the most injured tones ; 
" King of Sweden think excellent, but Miss no like 
it." 

It was, however, too late to make another soup, so 
we consoled ourselves with the thought that a king 
approved of it, and we would show a plebeian taste 
if we did not also appreciate it. However, some 
wry faces were made over the unlucky soup at the 
table, and the King of Sweden's taste was the subject 
of much merriment. 

I was somewhat sceptical at first that Lina had 
ever been in the royal household at Stockholm, not- 
withstanding that she did cook so admirably ; but she 
managed yesterday evening to tell me, in her broken 
English, about her residence in the palace. 

It seems that inexperienced cooks can, by paying a 
certain sum, be admitted into the royal kitchen to 
learn from the chief cook. After they have perfected 
themselves in their profession, they receive wages, 
and upon leaving, are presented with a diploma. 
Why could not a somewhat similar institution — omit- 
ting the sovereign — become practicable in our own 
country ? Both housekeepers and newspapers groan 
over the frightful cooking of our Bridgets ; Professor 
Blot lectures upon the kitchen scientifically and artis- 
tically considered, and our fashionable ladies go to 



A Startling Event. 35 

his classes to play at cooking ; but the novelty soon 
wears off, and home matters continue as badly as 
ever. 

I do not know if the President would consent to 
imitate the Swedish sovereign, by throwing open the 
kitchen of the White House in the same liberal 
fashion, but surely he ought to be willing to make 
some sacrifices for the common good — perhaps even 
to submit occasionally to a dinner spoilt by the exper- 
iments of young apprentices to the culinary art. 
Three months' training ought to suffice to make a very 
good cook, and with a diploma from the White 
House, situations would be plentiful, wages higher 
than ever, and employers would have the satisfaction of 
knowing that their money was not thrown away. 

June 11. 

We may pass some sad hours at Chappaqua this 
summer, but I do not think we shall suffer from 
ennui — that is, if the startling events of the past 
week are to be repeated often during the summer. 

I have already spoken of the escaped convict whom 
we saw in the grass the other day. It is unnecessary 
to say that we carefully barricaded our doors that 
night ; for, in case of danger, our situation would not 
be a cheerful one — a household of seven helpless 
women, save during papa's weekly visit, and Bernard, 
our only protector, asleep in the side-hill house. Our 



36 Idd^s Letters. 

precautions, however, were superfluous ; the convict 
did not favor us with a visit, but something far more 
thrilling than the loss of the family silver was in 
store for us. 

Dear Ida has received since last fall scores of let- 
ters from, I think, every State in the Union, and 
even from Europe, from people of whom she had 
never heard before, and upon all sorts of subjects. 
Some of her correspondents are interested in her 
spiritual, others in her temporal, welfare ; some advise 
change of air as beneficial after her affliction, and 
alternately she is offered a home in Colorado and 
Maine. But such letters form the exception; usually 
the writer has a favor to request. The most modest 
of the petitions are for Ida's autograph or photograph, 
while others request loans of different sums from 
units to thousands. She is occasionally informed 
that the writer has a baby named Ida Greeley, and it 
is intimated that a present from the godmother would 
be acceptable. Again she is asked to assist in build- 
ing a church, or to clothe and educate some poor girl 
— her own cast-off wardrobe of colored clothes will 
be accepted, the writer graciously says, although new 
dresses would be preferable. 

One letter dated Lebanon is chiefly upon the virtues 
of a lucky stone, which the writer will as a great favor 
sell to Miss Greeley for twenty-five dollars. All fur- 
tlier misfortune will, she says, be averted from Ida 



An Offer of Maj^riage. 2>7 

if she becomes its owner ; the stone is especially recom- 
mended as beneficial in love-afTairs, and, the writer 
kindly adds, it is not to be taken internally. 

Another letter is from the mother of a young invalid 
girl, begging Miss Greeley, whom she knows by report 
to be very wealthy and charitably inclined, to make her 
daughter a present of a melodeon, as music, she thinks, 
might help to pass away the tedious hours of illness. 

Sometimes Ida is solicited to open a correspond- 
ence for the improvement of her unknown friend, or 
to dispose of some one's literary wares, while offers of 
marriage from her unseen admirers are of almost daily 
occurrence. I think I would not exaggerate in saying 
she might reckon by the bushel these letters, written 
generally in very questionable grammar, and worse 
chirography. In very few instances has she ever re- 
plied to them, for they have been usually from people 
possessing so little claim upon her, that the favors they 
so boldly requested could only be viewed in the light 
of impertinence. 

One letter, couched in somewhat enigmatical terms, 
was dated from Baltimore, and was explicit upon one 
point only — that it was the manifest will of Provi- 
dence that Ida should marry him — S. M. Hudson. 
We read the letter together, laughed a little over it, 
and threw it into the waste basket. Time passed, and 
we came out here. Ida was greeted upon her arrival 
by another letter from the mysterious Hudson, who, 



38 A Strange Stdtor. 

not at all discomfited by the cool reception of his pro- 
posal, addressed her as his future wife, and announced 
that he had come on from Baltimore to marry her, 
that he was now in New York, and would wait there 
to hear from her. 

" The man is certainly crazy ! " exclaimed Mar- 
guerite. 

" Indeed he is ! " said mamma, reading liis rambling 
sentences very slowly : "I should judge him to be 
perfectly insane, and I only hope he will not come out 
here to pay \ns, fiancee a visit." 

"You know he requests me to send him funds to 
defray his expenses. Aunt Esther," said Ida quietly ; 
"perhaps the lack of money will avert such a 
calamity." 

" What an unromantic conclusion to a love-letter ! " 
said Gabrielle scornfully. 

The conversation turned to the depredations of the 
neighbors and neighbors' children upon the property. 
*' Mr. Greeley's place " had always been looked upon 
in the light of public property, and intruders walked 
and drove through the grounds quite as a matter oi 
course, and helped themselves freely to whatever they 
liked in the floral, fruit, or vegetable line. The young 
ladies, however, decided that they had submitted to 
such conduct quite long enough, and we sent to Sing 
Sing for some printed handbills warning trespassers 
off the place. 



Tete-a-tete with a Lunatic. 39 

Two or three days passed, and we had entirely for- 
gotten Ida's erratic admirer, when Gabrielle returned 
from a morning walk with the information that an in- 
toxicated man was sitting upon the steps of the side- 
hill house. She met mamma and Ida starting for a 
little stroll, and communicated this unpleasant news 
to them. Mamma, however, is not timid, and she 
walked on with Ida, determined to view the invader 
from afar, and then summon Bernard to dismiss him. 

A figure was sitting, as Gabrielle said, upon the 
piazza of the new house, but was so motionless that 
Ida exclaimed laughingly : 

" It is a scarecrow placed there by some one in re- 
taliation for our notice to trespassers to keep oflf the 
grounds." 

As they passed it, however, the scarecrow slowly 
lifted its head and addressed them with : 

" Is this Mr. Greeley's place ? " 

'' Yes," said mamma. 

" And is this young lady Miss Ida ? " 

"Yes." 

" You have received, I believe, a few letters from 
me, Miss Ida : my name is Hudson." 

Fortunately our family are not of a fainting dispo- 
sition, for a tete-a-tete with a lunatic was a situation 
requiring some nerve and perfect self-control; so, 
although mamma and Ida were much alarmed upon 
learning the name of their visitor, they neither 



40 His Story. 

screamed nor fainted, and mamma invited him quite 
courteously to walk up to the house. 

Mr. Hudson was a tall, powerful man, with cunning, 
restless, gray eyes, was well dressed, and wore a linen 
duster. He had come, he said, seven hundred miles 
to see Ida. Upon reaching the house, he followed 
mamma into the dining-room where Marguerite, 
Gabrielle, and I were sitting at work. 

" Ah, Miss Gabrielle ! " he said, ^' I supposed you 
were at school." 

One or two other rational remarks of the sort, and 
mamma's perfect sang-froid so deceived me that I 
decided the supposed lunatic must be perfectly sane. 
In a moment, however, he looked somewhat uneasy, 
and said: 

"I have a long story to tell your niece, ma'am, but 
I feel a little bashful about speaking before so many 
young ladies." 

"Would you like to see me alone, then?" said 
mamma promptly ; " you would not object to telling 
your story to a married woman." 

Then signing to us to leave the room, she followed 
us to the door, and breathing rather than whispering, 
" Run for Bernard," returned. 

It appears that the man grew more excitable when 
alone with mamma, and the story he told her was not 
a cheerful one to hear. 

" It began," he said, " five years ago, by my father 



A Dangerous Interview. 



'i> 



cutting his throat with a razor. They say he was 
crazy, and," with a fiendish chuckle, " some people 
say I am crazy too." 

"Indeed!" said mamma, sympathetically, *' how 
sad!" 

" This we may call the first scene in the story," he 
added, although what connection there was between 
suicide and his proposed marriage with Ida, poor 
mamma could not imagine. 

I could half fill my journal with the rambling, 
senseless, and menacing remarks that Hudson made 
to mamma, adding emphasis to his discourse by whirl- 
ing a pair of very long and sharp scissors close to her 
eyes (he was further armed with two razors, we sub- 
sequently learnt). Ida, he said, first appeared to him 
in a vision — a beautiful young girl in distress, who 
appealed to him for aid, but some one seemed to 
stand between them — a tall woman dressed as a Sister 
of Charity (evidently mamma, in her mourning dress 
and long crape veil). He then enlarged upon the 
awful punishment that inevitably overtook those who 
opposed the Will of Providence (i.e., his marriage 
with Ida) : death by some violent means being un- 
avoidable. At this point, the scissors were whirled 
more excitedly than ever, and Hudson's eyes glared 
with rage. I need not say that mamma feared 
every moment would be her last ; but still preserving 
a calm exterior, she never took her eyes off him for 



42 Victim of Misplaced Affection. 

an instant, and merely remarking, " It is quite warm 
here ; shall we not sit upon the piazza ? " accompanied 
him there, and sat down close beside him, that he 
might not suspect she feared him. The moments 
seemed endless until Bernard's heavy tread was heard 
upon the kitchen stairs. 

" Excuse me a moment," said mamma, with a most 
innocent face ; and in an interview of half a minute 
explained to Bernard that Hudson was a dangerous 
lunatic who must be taken away immediately ; then 
waiting till the valorous Bernard was safely out on 
the piazza, she unceremoniously shut and locked the 
door. Hudson, apparently much surprised at such 
inhospitable conduct, pulled the door-bell half a dozen 
times. When he was quite wearied with his exer- 
tions, Bernard suggested that they should take a little 
walk together. Much coaxing was requisite, for 
Hudson was quite determined to effect an entrance ; 
but finally Bernard took his arm, and bore him off to 
the tavern. 

" I had much more to say to Mrs. Cleveland," he 
remarked, en route, ^' but I fear it has already been 
too much for her nerves." 

At the tavern, Bernard found a constable, who im- 
mediately arrested the unhappy victim of misplaced 
affection, and telegraphed to Mount Kisco for a 
magistrate. Then ensued endless hours of waiting. 
Mamma lay upon the sofa whiter than any ghost, now 



The Trial. 43 

that the strain upon her nerves was relaxed, and Mrs. 

L , a loquacious neighbor, ran in from time to 

time with reports of what people were saying, and 
how the prisoner looked and felt. 

At 7 P.M. the magistrate, Mr. Clarence Hyatt, 
arrived, and we all went down to the improvised 
court-house in the tavern. Ida and mamma were 
shown into a private room, where Mr. Hyatt, a very 
polite and agreeable gentleman, took their affidavits 
before they were confronted with the enemy. The 
news had by this time spread far and near, and all 
Chappaqua was assembled. The wildest reports were 
now circulated, to the effect that Hudson had pointed 
a pistol at Ida, and vowed to kill her instantly if she 
did not promise to marry him, and mamma and Ida 
were advised to keep their veils down, that he might 
not become familiar with their faces, and to remain 
at a respectful distance from him. 

Hudson was sitting between two constables, and 
was being inspected by a large crowd. He looked 
very quiet, and upon listening to the affidavits, re- 
marked that Mr. Hyatt must have misunderstood the 
ladies, for he was perfectly incapable of having alarmed 
them to the extent indicated ; that he certainly ad- 
mired Miss Ida, and desired to marry her, but that 
he would not willingly injure or alarm the humblest 
creature — adding reproachfully that those affidavits 
would suffice to condemn him to State prison for 



44 A KO'kwette. 

life. He appeared so perfectly rational and calm, 
that the magistrate was perfectly dumbfoundered, and 
for the moment thought him sane ; and even we com- 
menced to reproach ourselves, and doubt which was 
the insane party. 

" Well," said Mr. Hyatt, " I will now hear your 
story." 

" I will read it to you," said Hudson, drawing a 
book from his pocket, and then commenced again the 
same incoherent nonsense with which he had already 
favored mamma. The object now was to show ther 
chain of evidence that pointed out Ida as his bride. 
The most important link was the fact that he had once 
seen a flock of white geese sailing through the air. 
He put up his finger, and one fluttered down to him ; 
and as G stood both for goose and Greeley, it was a 
clear manifestation of the Divine Will (at this point, 
the audience burst into a roar of laughter). Besides, 
he liked our family, we suited him in every respect ; 
and especially because we so much reminded him of 
John the Baptist (we inwardly hoped that the resem- 
blance would not extend to decapitatioo). If Miss 
Greeley would not marry him, he kindly added, he 
would take her cousin Marguerite instead, but he must 
positively marry one of the family. He was now 
perfectly wild, and when he remarked, with a re- 
proachful glance at Ida, that he disliked ko-kwettes, 
and liked a girl who would say in answer to an ofier, 



Escape and Recapture. 45 

*' Yes sir-ee," or " No sir-ee," the magistrate brought 
the evidence to a conclusion. He gave him to the 
constable to be taken to the county jail, where he was 
to be detained until tlie Court sat, if, in the meantime, 
his relatives did not appear from Massachusetts to 
claim him (for his place of residence varied — at first 
Baltimore, then Michigan, it was now Massachusetts). 
Hudson spent the night at the tavern, and appeared 
at times so rational, that he was not strictly guarded ; 
consequently, when the constable looked for him after 
breakfast, the bird had flown. He was instantly fol- 
lowed, and discovered walking on the railway track 
about two miles oiF, swinging his little bundle quite 
unconcernedly. In reply to the questions of his cap- 
tors, he said that he had just intended to make a 
little circuit about the country, and then return to 
marry Ida. He is now, thank fortune, safely lodged 
in jail. 



CHAPTEH lY. 

A Visit from Papa— A Musical Squirrel— Letters — Croquet — 
Extracts from Letters — Visitors — The Loss of the Missouri 
— The True Story of Ida's Engagement. 

June 13. 

Papa came up late last night with a supply of the 
latest periodicals, weekly journals, etc., and my pet 
squirrels in a new and spacious cage. These little 
creatures were presents to me this spring, and are 
very pretty, and partially tame. I remember, how- 
ever, one escapade of theirs shortly before we left the 
city. 

My balcony at home is enclosed with glass, and there 
T frequently allowed the squirrels to play. A game 
of cache-cache, of half an hour or so, was generally 
necessary before I could induce Fliegende Hollander, 
the livelier of the pair, to return to the narrow limits 
of his cage. One day, however, through some care- 
lessness, the door from the balcony into my room was 
left open, and the squirrels were missing. Senta 
(christened after the heroine of Wagner's clever o|)era) 
was captured after some little difficulty, but not the 
Dutchman. Being a flying squirrel, he was so very 



The Flying DiLtchmait, 47 

tiny that lie could easily conceal himself in a dark 
corner, and although I descended upon my knees to 
peer under my sofa, bureau, writing-table, and 
chiffonniere, my search was fruitless — the Flying 
Dutchman had evidently vanished to join the Phan- 
tom Ship. I felt very uneasy, fearing he might fall a 
prey to my two cats, who would no doubt find cold 
squirrel a very tempting entremet / or if he escaped 
this Scylla, the Charybdis of death by starvation lay 
before him. The hours passed, and Fliegende Hol- 
lander did not appear. Senta was cheerful, and 
reigned mistress of the revolving wheel — always the 
bone of contention between the pair. Once, during 
the afternoon, I fancied I heard a scratching as if of 
tiny claws, but could not obtain even a glimpse of his 
vanishing, fan-shaped tail. 

In the evening two or three gentlemen were pres- 
ent, and Marguerite sang for them. After the song 
(Gounod's " Naiade," a lovely salon piece), we were 
speaking of the loss of dear little Hollander, when 
one of our friends exclaimed : 

" Why, that squirrel was perched over the register 
while Miss Cleveland was singing, but he was so 
quiet that I thought he was stufied." 

" He evidently is fond of music," said another ; 
" pray sing something more. Miss Cleveland, and per- 
haps he may again come out." 

He had travelled down from the third story to the 



48 A Musical Sqinrrel. 

parlor through the flue (fortunately there was no fire), 
and was now commencing to desire society and food 
again. 

" Since he is fond of music," said Marguerite, " I 
will sing the ballad of the Flying Dutchman from 
Wagner's opera — that ought certainly to draw him 
out again." 

A music-loving squirrel evidently, and one versed 
in the art ; for with the first strains of those curious 
harmonies and chromatic runs, descriptive of the 
howling winds that herald the coming of the Phantom 
Ship, Hollander's tiny head peered out, followed, after 
a furtive glance about, by his little body. Two gen- 
tlemen started to capture him, and then a chase en- 
sued. Hollander tried to scamper up a picture, but 
tripped upon its glass, and fell. At last, the Colonel 
captured him in an attempt to scale the curtains, and 
after much struggling, kicking^ biting, and other 
vigorous protestations from Hollander, landed him 
safely in his cage. 

The squirrels evidently enjoy country life very 
much. Early this morning Minna took them out of 
doors, and removed the bottom of the cage that they 
might play upon the grass, which so much exhilarated 
them that I am convinced they fancied they were en- 
tirely free. Then I removed the hot cotton from 
their little nest, and filled it with fresh clover-leaves, 
which I am sure they much prefer. They run no risk 



Paris Friends. 49 

of being devoured here, for Aunt Mary always dis- 
liked cats, so that there is not one upon the place, and 
Gabrielle's pet dog, a native of Bordeaux, has viewed 
them from afar, and snuffed at the cage, but is evi- 
dently too well-bred a Frenchman to desire even to 
tease them. 

June 14. 

A letter to-day from one of my Paris friends, 
Jennie Ford. She says : 

" How divine it must be at Chappaqua ! I am 
glad you are enjoying yourself, and are well. But 
you do not say a word of your Western trip. I hope 
you have not given it up." 

Then follows a cordial invitation for me to visit 
her in her beautiful home upon Lake Erie, now look- 
ing its prettiest in the leafy month of June. All 
sorts of pleasant inducements are held out : a croquet- 
lawn of velvet softness, long drives, and charming 
rides in which to display my stylish new beaver and 
habit, moonlight excursions upon Lake Erie, and no 
lack of handsome cavaliers, including naval officers. 
However, despite all these attractions, I do not think 
I shall care to leave Chappaqua this summer. 

Jennie enclosed a photograph of the lady who 
reigned as belle of the American colony in Paris, 
some four or five years ago — Mrs. Horace Jenness, 
then Miss Carrie Doming. Three years of married 
life have changed the beautiful Carrie somewhat, if 



50 Croquet. 

this picture is a truthful one. The perfect outline of 
her face is unaltered, but the haughty expression that 
" La Princesse " wore in former days has vanished, 
and the fond young mother, grouped with her two 
little children is prettier than ever. 

June 15. 

I feel singularly indolent, and indisposed to journal- 
ize this evening. Perhaps it is the result of two hours 
spent in croquet, a game in which I am very unpro- 
ficient and therefore find decidedly wearisome; but 
Gabrielle, who is the best croquet player in Chappa- 
qua, is in the city to-day, and my feeble assistance was 
necessary to make up the quartette. 

Two fentire hours spent in this game seem quite an 
unwarrantable loss of time, but we have had a guest 
from New York to-day, and therefore both Plato and 
Kohlrausch have remained under lock and key in the 
library. 

I think no one enjoys the country more thoroughly 
than a physician when he can escape from his patients 
for a holiday, and Dr. Howe, our visitor of to-day, was 
not an exception. This gentleman is, I fancy, quite 
young in his profession, for his figure is of almost boy- 
ish slenderness ; his face, too, which reminds one some- 
what of Shelley in its delicacy and brightness, and its 
dark eyes and luxuriant curls, is quite youthful for a 
fully fledged M.D. 



Letters. 5 1 

Dr. Howe returned from Europe some months since, 
and brought us a letter of introduction from a friend 
of mamma's in Florence ; but owing to mamma's long 
illness and the seclusion in which we lived last winter, 
we have not seen him many times. 

I have in my lap a number of letters received in 
this evening's mail. One is from my dear friend, Mrs. 
Knox, the charming contralto of Christ Church. We 
had expected her to visit us this week, but her unex- 
pected departure for the West has prevented her from 
doing so. She says : 

'' You must truly be enjoying Chappaqua these heav- 
enly June days. I hope that the fresh air and rest 
are putting roses into your pale cheeks and giving you 
health and strength for your literary labors. My sud- 
den departure compels me to forego the pleasure I had 
anticipated in seeing you at Chappaqua — at least until 
the fall. I am appreciative of the courtesy of your 
dear mamma in inviting me to spend a day in that 
lovely retreat, already made sacred to me by my high 
regard and admiration for your most noble uncle, 
whose home it was." 

Another letter is written upon most dainty station- 
ery, bearing the impress of Tiffany, and adorned with 
a prettily devised monogram in lavender and gold 
(handsome stationery is one of my weaknesses). This 
letter I know to be sprightly and amusing before I 
open it, for my friend Lela has been for two or three 



52 Visitors. 

years one oi my most entertaining correspondents. 
We were intimate friends in Paris three or four years 
ago, when Lela was a school-girl, and I an enfant de 
Jfarie, and although we have been separated by hun- 
di-eds of miles, by the ocean, and finally, by Lela's 
marriage, our attachment continues ; so, no reproaches 
uj)on school-girl friendships, I beg. 

Lela was married last winter, but she and her hand- 
some French husband are yet in the honeymoon, which 
will last, I fancy, forever — certainly the former Queen 
of Hearts seems now to care for only one heart. She 
says: 

" You must be having a lovely time in such a charm- 
ing place. We have been to Saratoga. It was stupid 
enough to send your worst enemy there." 

June 17. 

This week has been quite lost, so far as study is 
concerned, for nearly every day has been interrupted 
by visitors. 

Looking out of the window this morning, I saw a 
carriage containing two strange young ladies stop be- 
fore the house. In answer to their inquiry for Miss 
Greeley and Miss GFabrielle, Minna informed them, in 
her broken English, that they were both in the city 
for the day. They looked quite aghast upon receiving 
this information, for they had already dismissed their 
carriage, in which they had driven from Pleasantville, 



TJlc Purser of the Missouri. 53 

and knew probably that there was no down train till 
4.45, so quite helplessly they inquired if no members 
of the family were at home. Learning that Mrs. 
Cleveland and her daughters were here, one of the 
young ladies, a stylish girl in mourning, desired 
Minna to announce Miss Hempstead and her cousin. 
I puzzled a little over the name while glancing- in the 
mirror to see that my crape ruffle was properly ad- 
justed, and my hair in tolerable order. The name 
seemed familiar, and yet I knew that no friend of 
mine bore it. 

I found the young ladies in the music room. Miss 
Hempstead introduced herself by saying : 

" Perhaps you may have heard my name, although 
you do not know me. My brother was a friend of 
Mrs. and Miss Greeley, and was purser of the Mis- 
soiirV 

I was then somewhat surprised that I had not 
divined Miss Hempstead's identity from the name and 
her black dress ; but the burning of the Missouri made 
scarce any impression uj^on me at the time, sur- 
rounded as I was last fall by such heavy family afflic- 
tions ; and the name of the young purser, whose tragic 
fate then filled the news])apers, had since then almost 
entirely passed from my memory. 

An ordinary passenger ship is wrecked or burned, 
" Extras " are issued, a three days' excitement follows, 
and it is then a thing of the past ; but as the Missouri 



54 A Maiden Widow. 

bore, on this memorable voyage, not indeed Caesar and 
his fortunes, but the supposed fiance of dear Ida, its 
loss is an event still interesting to the gossiping 
public. It was useless to tiy to convince any one that 
no engagement had ever existed between Mr. Hemp- 
stead and Ida : no one would credit my most solemn 
protestations. Many people not personally acquainted 
with us, but who knew the facts "upon the best 
authority," as outsiders usually do, said that the mar- 
riage was to have taken place before the election, but 
after Aunt Mary's death it was postponed for three 
months. Before two weeks had elapsed, however, 
Mr. Hempstead was, in the poetic language of the 
journals, " sleeping beneath the coral wave," and poor 
Ida received as many well-meant condolences over his 
death as over Aunt Mary's. 

When the tragedy of last autumn was all over, the 
interest of the public was greater than ever, and Ida, 
" who had within four short weeks lost mother, lover, 
and father," formed the subject of many a pathetic 
editorial and sermon. A London journal styled Ida 
the "maiden widow," spoke of uncle's fond attach- 
ment to Mr. Hempstead, and announced that the loss 
of his prospective son-in-law was an affliction that 
precipitated Mr. Greeley's death. 

I first heard of Mr. Hempstead in the winter of 
1869-70. Aunt Mary, who was then commencing to 
fail, went with Ida to Nassau to spend the cold 



A Brief Acquaintance. 55 

months. Her state-room, engaged at the last moment, 
was a very uncomfortable one, and Mr. Hempstead, 
then purser of the Eagle, gave up for her use a large 
deck state-room with three windows — a great comfort 
to Aunt Mary, who was always so partial to an airy 
bedroom. The voyage proved, however, a very 
stormy one, and the waves dashed in through these 
three windows, quite drenching poor Ida, who suf- 
fered so much from sea-sickness as to be quite indiffer- 
ent to danger or discomfort. 

In writing to me after reaching Nassau, Ida men- 
tioned Mr. Hempstead in a few words : 

" The purser was an agreeable and gentlemanly 
officer, and so kind to mamma." 

She did not, however, mention his name, and I 
never knew it till last summer. 

After their return to New York, in the spring of 
1870, Aunt Mary invited Mr. Hempstead to visit 
them at Chappaqua, as she felt under some obligations 
to him for having given her his state-room, and sub- 
sequently executed some little commissions for her, 
between New York and Nassau. He came out here, 
and made a visit of a week. In July of the same 
year. Aunt Mary and Ida went abroad, and from that 
time the acquaintance dropped. That he admired Ida 
I know, but how any one could manufacture an en- 
gagement from such slight material, I cannot imagine. 

One dav last summer, during the excitement of the 



56 Reported Engagement . 

campaign, I had taken up a rose-tinted society journal 
as a little respite from politics, when my eyes fell 
upon a paragraph announcing Ida's engagement to 
Mr. William Hempstead, Purser of the Missouri ^ 
and then I for the first time learnt the officer's name. 
My astonishment can be imagined ; and to this day it 
remains an enigma who invented that little society 
item. If a fertile-minded reporter had desired to 
head his column of Engagements in High Life with 
Ida's name, and had announced that she would shortly 
be led to the hymeneal altar (I believe that is the 
correct phrase in newspaper parlance) by any one in 
our circle of acquaintances with whom she was at all 
intimate, it would not have been surprising ; but why 
a person whom she had not seen or heard of for two 
years should have been selected, is a mystery worthy 
of G. P. P. James. 

But in writing about Mr. Hempstead, I have neg- 
lected his sister. Miss Hempstead was a tall, fine- 
looking young girl, with, however, a strikingly foreign 
appearance for an American p2*r sancj. She was born, 
she told me, in Belize, Central America, where her 
father was United States Consul. A tropical sun had 
given her a complexion of Spanish darkness, height- 
ened by large black eyes and jet black hair — the ex- 
act counterpart, Ida afterwards told me, of her 
brother, who was often mistaken for a Cuban. 

When the period of the consulate of Mr. Hemp- 



OiLV American Girls. 57 

stead pere was over, lie had become so much attached 
to Belize, that he decided to make it his future 
residence. His daughter said she could not imagine 
what he found to like in the place, for between earth- 
quakes and yellow fever, one was in a continual state 
of terror ; there was no society, the population being 
almost entirely negro, and no schools ; consequently 
the children of the few white resident families were 
obliged to go to England or to the United States to 
be educated. 

Miss Hempstead was sent to London, and five or 
six years of the discipline of a first-class English 
school have made her quite different from the fully 
fledged society queens who graduate from our Murray 
Hill pejisionnats at sixteen or so. A little English 
reserve to tone down somewhat their sparkling natures 
is all that our bewitching American girls need to make 
them perfect, but I fear they will for several years yet 
bear the stigma of, " Charming, but too wild." 



CHAPTER Y. 

Sunday in the Country — Proximity of a Meeting-liouse — 
How we pass our Sundays — The House in the "Woods — 
Ida's Grlen — Mrs. Greeley's Favorite Spring — The Children's 
Play-house — Gabrielle's Pets — Travelling- in 1836 — New 
York Society — Mr. Greeley's Friday Evenings — Mrs. Gree- 
ley as a Bride — Her Accomplishments — A Letter concerning 
Mr. Greeley's Wedding. 

June 16. 

Sunday is, I think, a very triste day in the coun- 
try (low be it spoken). I cannot remain longer than 
an hour at church, for the Mass is a low one, and the 
sermon consists of fifteen minutes of plain, practical 
instruction, unembellished by rhetoric, to the congre- 
gation. The church, it is true, is four miles distant, 
but Gabrielle's aristocratic ponies. Lady Alice and 
The Duchess, fairly fly over the ground — up or down 
hill, it is immaterial to them — and consequently, I 
find myself, when my religious duties are over, with 
many idle hours upon my hands. 

The croquet balls and mallets, our '' Magic Rings," 
and other out-of-door games, are put away in the 
" children's play-house," a little white hut on the 



Sunday in the Country. 59 

borders of the croquet ground, where Ida and dear 
little Raffie used to keep their toys, and where Gabri- 
elle in later days housed her menagerie of pets. 

The i^iano, too, is not only closed, but locked, for 
the flesh is weak, and I fear the temj)tation of the 
beautiful cold keys. It may be the baneful effect of a 
foreign education, but I cannot see that there would be 
any evil result from a little music on Sundays. How- 
ever, we have a Dissenting church for a next-door 
neighbor, and the residents of Chappaqua are chiefly 
Quakers, who frown upon the piano as an ungodly 
instrument ; so with a sigh, I replace in my portfolio 
that grand hymn that in 1672 saved the life of the 
singer, Stradella, from the assassin's knife, and a beau- 
tiful Ave Maria, solemn and chaste in its style as 
though written by St. Gregory himself, but composed 
and dedicated to me by mamma's friend, Professor 
r. L. Ritter. 

My pretty bits of fancy work with their bright- 
colored silks, the tiny needle-book worked while in 
Munich in an especially pretty stitch, and in the 
Bavarian colors — blue and white — and my Bavarian 
thimble — silver and amethyst — are put away in a 
bureau drawer, for although a Catholic, I do not im- 
itate our Lutheran maid, who spends her Sundays in 
sewing and knitting. 

Plato and Kohlrausch, our week-day sustenance, 
do not come certainly under the head of Sunday 



6o Under the Pines. 

reading, although. I see nothing objectionable in them ; 
but after all, one requires, I think, a change of liter- 
ature on Sundays as well as a different dress, and 
an extra course at dinner. 

'* What shall we do ? " says Gabrielle. 

We have each written a letter or two, for Sunday 
is, I am sure, every one's letter-writing day, and now 
we put on our broad-brimmed garden hats, with their 
graceful trimmings of gauze and crape, and stroll off to 
the spicy pine grove, where we sit down on the dry 
spines, and Arthur repeats to us quaint bits from 
some of the rare old books he read in the British 
Museum three years ago, or entertains us with some 
of his own adventures when travelling on foot over 
beautiful France and Italy, and " Merrie England." 

Ida and I, however, wandered away foom the others 
this morning, and strolled up to the dear old house in 
the woods where she passed her childhood. This is, 
to my mind, the sweetest and most picturesque spot 
upon the entire estate, and I do not wonder that Aunt 
Mary, with her keen love for the beautiful in Nature, 
her indifference to general society, and her devotion to 
her children, to study, and to reflection, preferred the 
quiet seclusion of her home shut in by evergreens, 
with the deep ravine, and the joyous little brook at 
her feet, to the most superb mansion that graces our 
magnificent Hudson. 

One of the purest springs on the place is in the 



IdcCs Glen. 6i 

ravine, or " Ida's Glen," as uncle christened it long ago. 
Here at the foot of the long wooden staircase is a 
basin of natural rock, and flowing into it is the sweet- 
est, coolest water in the world. This water Aunt 
Mary always preferred to any other on the place — 
even to the spring at the foot of the side-hill, so cele- 
brated in the campaign times as the spot where uncle 
and his visitors would stop to "take a drink," when 
returning from a walk. Exquisite in her neatness. 
Aunt Mary would frequently order the basin of her 
favorite spring to be well purified by a thorough scrub- 
bing with brush and soap, followed by a prolonged 
rinsing with water. During her illness last fall, she 
frequently asked to have a pitcher of water brought 
from this spring, which she always especially relished. 

That uncle shared his wife's partiality for this 
spring is evident by his description of it in his 
" Recollections " : 

" In the little dell or glen through which my brook 
emerges from the wood wherein it has brawled down 
the hill, to dance across a gentle slope to the swamp 
below, is the spring, — pure as crystal, never-failing, cold 
as you could wish it for drink in the hottest day, and 
so thoroughly shaded and sheltered that, I am confi- 
dent, it was never warm, and never frozen over. 
Many springs upon my farm are excellent, but this is 
peerless." 

The house in the woods was built by uncle to suit 



62 House i7i the Woods. 

Aunt Mary's taste, and very comfortable and com- 
plete it is. Uncle says of it : 

"It is not much — hastily erected, small, slight, and 
wooden, it has at length been almost deserted for one 
recently purchased and refitted on the edge of the vil- 
lage ; but the cottage in the woods is still my home, 
where my books remain, and where I mean to garner 
my treasures." 

The house consists of two stories with that most 
necessary addition to a country house, a broad piazza. 
To the right stands a white cottage, built for the ser- 
vants. Almost in front of the house is a large boulder, 
moss-grown and venerable. This, Aunt Mary would 
not have removed, for she loved Nature in its wildest 
primeval beauty, and now the rock is associated with 
loving memories of Raffle's little hands that once pre- 
pared fairy banquets upon it, with acorn-cups for 
dishes; but now those baby hands have long since 
been folded quietly in the grave. 

The little play-house, that has since been removed 
to the croquet-ground, once stood not far from this 
rock, and has been used, as I said, by Gabrielle as a 
menagerie for her pets. A strange assortment they 
often were for a little girl. Inheritiug her mother's 
exquisite tenderness of feeling towards helpless ani- 
mals, Gabrielle would splinter and bandage up the 
little legs of any baby robin or sparrow that had met 
with an accident from trying its wings too early, 



Gabrielle's Pets. 63 

would nurse it till well, and then let it fly away. At 
one time she had in the play-house a little regiment of 
twelve toads, a red squirrel, and a large turtle. Aunt 
Mary never wished her to cage her pets, as she thought 
it cruel ; consequently they had the range of the play- 
house, and Gabrielle fed them very conscientiously. 
She ought, however, to have followed the example of 
St. Francis, who used to preach to animals and insects 
when he had no human audience, and given her pets a 
daily dissertation upon brotherly love and tolerance, 
for they did not, I regret to say, live together in the 
Christian harmony that distinguished Barnum's Happy 
Family. The result was, that one day when Gabrielle 
went to minister to their physical wants, she found 
only a melancholy debris of little legs. Her supposi- 
tion was that the turtle had consumed the toads and 
then died of dyspepsia, and that the squirrel had by 
some unknown means escaped from the play-house, 
and returned to primeval liberty. 

Forgetting this sad experience, Gabrielle endeavored 
at another time to bring up a snake and a toad in the 
way they should go (this time in an empty hen-coop) ; 
but the snake certainly did depart from it, and aston- 
ished the family much by gliding into the kitchen 
with the unhappy toad in his mouth. Poor Gabrielle's 
feelings can be imagined. She endeavored coura- 
geously to wrest the toad from its enemy's jaws, but 



64 An Eventful Journey, 

all in vain ; slie was obliged to see the hapless creat- 
ure consumed by the snake. 

Mamma has often described Aunt Mary to me as 
she looked when she first met her. The portrait 
mamma draws of her as a bride would scarcely be rec- 
ognized by those who only knew her after long years 
of weary illness had 

" Paled her glowing cheek." 
I will give it in mamma's own words : 

" Immediately after your uncle's marriage, he sent 
for me to come from my parents' quiet farm in 
Pennsylvania, to spend the winter in the city with 
himself and his wife. A great event this was to me — 
far greater than your first visit to Europe, for the 
journey occupied double the time that is now spent be- 
tween New York and Liverpool, and I was a young girl 
whose acquaintance with the world was confined to 
the narrow limits of the little village of Clymer ; I 
had never even been sent away to boarding-school. 

" One bright September morning I started upon my 
eventful journey. Your uncle Barnes drove me in a 
buggy to Buffalo, a distance of three days at that time. 
At this city — the first large one that I had ever seen, 
my brother left me in charge of a party going through, 
as he supposed, to New York. Then ensued two 
weeks upon a canal boat ; very slow travelling you 
children would consider it, accustomed as you are to 
whirling over the country in an express train ; but at 



A Day on the Hudson. 6$ 

my romantic age, this dreamy, delicious style of boat 
travel was the perfection of happiness. 

'* At Rochester my friends left me, first placing me 
under the care of the captain of the canal-boat, who 
promised to put me upon the steamboat when we 
should reach Albany. 

"The prospect of the day to be spent upon the 
Hudson possessed no charms for me, but on the con- 
trary, untold terror. I had never before seen a steam- 
boat, but they had been introduced upon Lake Erie, 
near enough to my home for me to hear, with alarm, of 
all the accidents that had so far befallen them upon 
that very turbulent sheet of water ; consequently, I 
embarked upon the ' Washington,' in the full convic- 
tion that I was about to meet with my doom. 

" All that day I sat motionless in a corner of the 
promenade deck, reading my Bible. Perfectly oblivi- 
ous alike to the magnificent scenery that I was pass- 
ing, and to the elegant toilettes such as my country- 
bred eyes had never before beheld, by which I was 
surrounded ; I neither spoke to nor looked at any one, 
nor dared to leave my seat even to go to dinner ; but 
endeavored to gain, from the sacred volume in my 
hands, strength for the terrible fate that I was confi- 
dent awaited me. I have often since wondered what 
my fellow-travellers thought of the still, shy little 
figure whose eyes were never once lifted from her 
Bible. 



66 Aji Explosion. 

" About four o'clock a terrible explosion was heard, 
the boat was thrown violently upon her side, and a 
scene of confusion, shrieks, and fainting-fits then en- 
sued. I did not faint — I was much too alarmed for 
that ; I merely turned very white, and trembled from 
head to foot. The wheel-house had been blown away, I 
learnt before long, but no one fortunately was injured, 
and after a delay of an hour or so the boat was righted, 
and we proceeded upon our journey, at a snail's pace, 
however. 

'' Owing to the accident, we did not reach New 
York until ten o'clock. No one was at the pier to 
meet me, for brother had supposed that I would arrive 
before sunset. As I did not appear, however, he con- 
cluded that I had not left Albany at the time appointed. 
But my adventures of the day were not yet over. I 
secured a cab, and drove to the address he had given 
me, 123 Hudson Street, which in 1836 was by no 
means the plebeian locajity it is at present, but a 
fashionable street, devoted exclusively to elegant 
residences. Upon inquiring for Mr. Greeley, my 
consternation was great to learn that although he had 
looked at rooms in that house, he had not engaged 
them, and the landlady had no idea of his address. I Avas 
almost as timid about cabs as I had been about the 
steamboat ; for I had heard stories of young girls 
being robbed and murdered by New York cab-drivers, 
and here I was, late at night, in all the whirl and ex- 



Arrival in New York. 6 J 

citement of the metropolis, driving I knew not where, 
and entirely at the mercy of an assassin. However, 
my modest trunk did not look very inviting, I sup- 
pose, for I reached The New Yorker office — the only 
other address I knew in the city — without further 
adventure, where I ascertained that brother was now 
living at 124 Greenwich Street — a most beautiful 
situation close by the Battery — then the fashionable 
promenade of New York. He had written to tell me 
of his change of residence, but the letter failed to 
reach me. 

" It was half-past eleven when I finally reached my 
home. The large parlor was ablaze with lights, and 
crowded with people; for it was Friday, the night 
that TJie New Yorker went to press, and brother's 
reception evening. I was trembling with fatigue and 
excitement, and very faint, for I had not eaten since 
early in the morning ; but all these emotions vanished 
when I was introduced to my new sister. I had seen 
no pictures of her, and knew her only through 
brother's description, and a few letters she had 
written me since her marriage, and I was quite un- 
prepared for the exquisite, fairy-like creature I now 
beheld. A slight, girlish figure, rather jjetite in 
stature, dressed in clouds of white muslin, cut low, 
and her neck and shoulders covered by massive dark 
curls, from which gleamed out an Oriental-looking 
coiffure^ composed of strands of large gold and pearl 



68 Mrs. Greeley as a Bride. 

beads. Her eyes were large, dark, and pensive, and 
her rich brunette complexion was heightened by a 
flush, not brilliant like Gabrielle's, but delicate as a 
rose-leaf. She appeared to me like a being from an- 
other world." 

To continue mamma's reminiscences of uncle's first 
year of married life : 

" I found my sister-in-law's tastes," she said, " quite 
different from those of the majority of young ladies. 
In literature her preference was for the solid and 
j^hilosophic, rather than the romantic class of reading ; 
indeed, I may say that she never read, she studied ; 
going over a paragraph several times, until she had 
fully comprehended its subtleties of thought, and 
stored them away in her retentive memory for future 
use. During that year, I never knew her to read a 
work of fiction ; but philosophy or science formed her 
daily nourishment ; whilst brother, whenever he had 
a free evening, read aloud to Mary and I from Gib- 
bon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, sweet- 
ened now and then with a selection from Lord Byron 
or Mrs. Hemans — the two poets that at that time he 
preferred. 

" But although your Aunt Mary had such severe 
literary tastes, she was by no means gloomy in her dis- 
position, as you might perhaps infer. Your uncle 
being at that time editor of a weekly journal, he was 
comparatively a man of leisure, and he and Mary went 



Mr. Greelefs Receptiojis. 69 

frequently to the theatre, and to hear lectures — a 
source of great enjoyment to both of them. They also 
mingled considerably in general society, for Mary was 
then very fond of dancing, although there was rarely 
or never any at her Friday evenings, for literary peo- 
ple then, as now, eschewed the goddess Terpsichore. 

" I told you that I arrived in New York upon 
brother's reception-night. Those Friday evenings were 
a great source of pleasure to me, introducing me as 
they did to the literary coterie of the metropolis. 
Nearly all the men and women of note at that time 
met in our parlors on Greenwich Street, and many of 
them were regular or occasional contributors to 
brother's journal. Among the names that I can re- 
call, were Gen. Morris, then editing the JSfew York 
Mirror ; the two Clark brothers, editors of the Knick- 
erhocker^ one of whom, Willis Gay lord Clark, was at 
that time writing his clever * Ollapodiana ; ' Fitz- 
Greene Halleck, the poet ; George M. Snow, who later 
in life became financial editor of The Tribune, and is 
now deceased ; Professor A. C. Kendrick, of Hamilton 
College, the translator of Schiller's 'Victor's Tri- 
umph,' which subsequently appeared in TJie JVeio 
Yorker, and which, you will remember, your uncle has 
occasionally read for us at our own Tuesday evening 
receptions ; Mrs. C. M. Sawyer, the accomplished wife 
of brother's pastor, then making her dehilt in the lit- 
erary world with poems and occasional translations 



70 His Guests. 

from the German ; Elizabeth Jessup Eames, who was 
writing stories and poems for The New Yorher^ under 
the signature of ' Stella;' Mrs. E. F. Ellet, in 1836 
a handsome young bride, who had come up from the 
South, and w^as contributing translations from the 
Erencli and German to the same journal ; Anne Cora 
Lynch, now Madame Botta; and many others. 

" I must not forget to mention Fisher, the sub-edi- 
tor of The New Yorker, and, in his own estimation, 
the most important person upon that journal. He 
was what might be called a literary fop, and was much 
given to the production of highly-wrought, Byronic 
poems and sketches. I remember hearing that some 
one called one day at the office, and asked to see the 
editor. Fisher immediately presented himself. 

a i What ! ' said the visitor, somewhat surprised, 
' are you Mr. Greeley ? ' 

" ' No,' said Fisher, running his fingers nonchalantly 
through his curls, ^ I am not Mr. Greeley, but,' draw- 
ing himself up, ' I am the editor of The New Yorker. 
Mr. Greeley is only the printer.' 

" This incident having got out among brother's 
friends, it was considered so good a joke that for years 
he was called in the office and by the literary frater- 
nity, ' The Printer.' 

'■' The entertainment at these Friday evenings was 
mainly conversation, varied by the occasional reading 
of a poem. Your Aunt Mary was much admired that 



A Christmas Party. Ji 

winter, both for her exquisite beauty and the charm 
of her winning, artless manners. As I said, she was 
very fond of dancing ; but brother never had time to 
accomplish himself in the art. I remember, however, 
that at a Christmas party given by his partner, Mr. 
Wilson, he was induced to dance a quadrille. His 
mathematical accuracy enabled him to go through the 
figures perfectly, when he had once seen them danced ; 
and he enjoyed it so thoroughly, and wore such an air 
of unconscious happiness, that an old Quaker lady (the 
mother-in-law of Mr. Wilson) who was looking on 
remarked to me, ' I didn't think thee could find so 
beautiful a sight as thy brother's dancing this side of 
heaven.' 

" I have described your Aunt Mary as beautiful, and 
perhaps you would infer that she was also over-fond of 
dress. She was no devotee to fashion, and her toilet 
was, even at that period, characterized by great sim- 
plicity, but was noted, at the same time, for pictu- 
resqueness." 

Ida showed me, the other day, a very interesting 
letter written to her father by a friend, Mr. Yancey; 
who was present at his marriage, and as it confirms 
what mamma has said of Aunt Mary's beauty, I will 
make some extracts from it. Mr. Yancey was the son- 
in-law of Squire Bragg, at whose house Aunt Mary 
resided while teaching; school in North Carolina. 



72 A Letter about 

" Germantown, Tennessee, July 6, 1847, 
" Mr. Greeley : 

"Dear Sir: — Sitting to-night 'all solitary and 
alone,' mj mind lias wandered back upon scenes that 
have past eleven years ago, though vivid now even as 
yesterday. It was about that time that I saw you 
first, and indeed saw you last. 

" Little did I then dream that I beheld in that 
modest personage one who is now acknowledged as 
the ' distinguished and accomplished Horace Greeley.' 

" You well remember your first visit to the South, 
I dare say. You cannot have forgotten many inci- 
dents that occurred at a little village of North Caro- 
lina, called Warrenton ? No, there is one circum- 
stance I feel assured you never can forget while 
memory lasts, and there are others to which I claim 
the right to call your attention ; for instance, do you 
remember your first meeting with a certain Miss 
Cheney at the house of Squire Bragg, the father of 
Capt. Bragg, who lately distinguished himself at Mon- 
terey and Buena Vista? Do you now remember to 
whom you related the secret of your visit, who pro- 
cured the parson, and what persons accompanied you 
to church, and then with your beautiful bride returned 
to breakfast ? We saw you take the solemn vows, 
we witnessed the plighted betrothal, and when you 
bore away from us this prize, you also carried our 
best wishes that you might be ever blessed, and 



Mr. Greeley^s Marriage. 73 

she be made always happy. May it not have been 
otherwise. 

. ..." I would, my dear sir, be pleased to hear 
from you, and to learn something of the results 
and changes which time has brought about in your 
own family. 

" Be pleased to remember me to your sweet wife, 

and if there be any, or many little G s, my kind 

regards to them also. 

" Very respectfully, 

« A. L. Yancey." 
4 



CHAPTER YI. 

Visitors — Our Neighbors — The Chappaqua Croquet Club — 
Gabrielle's Letter — A Eiding Party — Summer Heat — The 
Music-room — Friends from the City. 

June 18. 

While out on the croquet ground this afternoon, a 
lady and gentleman alighted from a carriage, and 
walked up to join us. They proved to be our friends, 
Mr. and Mrs. Charles E. Wilbour, of New York, who 
had driven over from White Plains to make us an 
afternoon call. Mrs. Wilbour is a charming, intel- 
lectual woman, the president of Sorosis, and a friend 
of many years of both mamma and Aunt Mary. In 
appearance she is tall, handsome, and queenly, dress- 
ing in perfect taste, and a graceful hostess. Her 
pretty daughter Linny is a school friend of Gabrielle's 
at St. Mary's. 

Mr. and Mrs. Wilbour spend much time during the 
summer, driving about from one town to another ; 
certainly the most comfortable and agreeable mode of 
travelling that one could adopt. 

We have some agreeable neighbors here, who con- 
tribute somewhat to the general entertainment. The 
aristocracy of Chappaqua are chiefly Quaker families 



Our Quaker Neighbors. 75 

who have lived here since the days of the Indians, 
and who look down quite doubtfully upon the New 
York families who come out here for the summer 
only, and of whose ancestry they know nothing. 
The fathers and mothers wear the Quaker dress, and 
use the "Friends" phraseology, which I think very 
pretty and caressing, but the young people depart 
somewhat from the way of grace, in speech, cos- 
tume, and habits. The young girls wear whatever 
color of the rainbow best suits their fresh complexions, 
are skilled in flirting, and with the assistance of the 
young gentlemen, have organized a club for weekly 
croquet parties and private theatricals at the residences 
of the different members, whilst picnics and riding- 
parties to Croton and Kye Lakes, and other pretty 
points of interest, are of frequent occurrence. But 
of the riding-parties Gabrielle has just written a 
sprightly description to a school friend, and before the 
letter goes to the post, I will transcribe it. 

CnAPPAQUA, June 18. 

" Dear Mollie : I received your charming letter 
and photograph last week. Many thanks for both. 
You ask me how do I pass my time, and what is the 
latest excitement ? 

" Well, to begin with, you must know that we 
have just started a club in Chappaqua for mutual 
amusement, but as I have been indisposed for some 



"jG Gabrielle rides an 

time, I certainly have not yefc derived much benefit 
from it, but spend most of my time reading. 

" Last Saturday I was just longing for something 
to happen, and apostrophizing the world as a hollow 
sham, when Minna came up to say that we had all 
been invited to an equestrian party, to start after 
tea. You would have imagined I had been offered 
several kingdoms by my delight. I gave two or three 
screams of condensed joy, while dancing wildly around 
the room, much to Aunt Esther's surprise. 

"JBut on second thoughts, what was I to do for a 
horse ? My ponies had never been broken to the sad- 
dle, but having made up my mind to go, go I would, 
if I had to ride a wild buffalo; so I ordered Lady 
Alice around an hour before the time to start. When 
she arrived, the balcony was filled with a large and 
anxious audience, and rather than fail before so many, 
I was determined that either I should break the horse 
in, or she should break me. I sprang into the saddle, 
but before I could seat myself or put my foot in the 
stirrup, she jerked her head away from Bernard, and 
commenced a series of exciting manoeuvres, rearing, 
plunging, and kicking. For about five minutes I de- 
fied all the laws of gravitation. But when the coach- 
man tried to seize her bridle, she shied so suddenly 
that I was surprised to find myself on terra firma. I 
jumped up directly and assured every one that I had 
not hurt myself in the least, in fact had never felt 



Unbroken Horse. 'J*j 

better; but between you and me, I felt very like 
the dog that was tossed by the cow with the crumpled 
horn. I am afraid that by this time I had let my 
little angry passions rise — in other words, I was de- 
cidedly angry. 

" I got on splendidly this time, and was quite ready 
to start with my cousins when the time came, although 
my Lady Alice evinced serious objections to the gate, 
and preferred ambling gently along sideways up the 
hill. After a while I intimated kindly with my whip 
a desire to gallop. I fear that, like some of our 
friends, she is hard to take a hint, for she progressed 
by the most wonderful plunges, garnished with little 
kicks ; but I kept her head well *up, and clawed out 
several handfuls of her mane. When w^e came to the 
rendezvous, my cavalier proposed running her for two 
or three miles to take down her spirits a little, after 
which she went beautifully, and I never enjoyed a ride 
so much before. 

'* We rode to Lake Wampus, and everything looked 
so lovely, for the full moon lighted it up like a mii-ror, 
and we had singing and thrilling ghost stories. 

" Dear me, how awfully long this letter is ! Be sure 
you answer it soon. 

" Yours lovingly, 

" GtABRIELLE." 

June 19. 
The heat and dust are becoming insufferable, for 



78 Visitors. 

we have had no rain, save in very homoeopathic doses, 
during the three weeks that we have been here. The 
shrubs and bushes by the roadside look so piteous 
under their weight of dust, that I feel half inclined to 
try the effect of a feather brush upon their drooping 
leaves ; and Bernard, who is never prone to take cheer- 
ful views of anything, grows daily more gloomy when 
we inquire after the progress of the kitchen-garden. 
But, although we are sighing under the heat, it is 
nothing, we are told, to what the New Yorkers are 
now enduring, and our friends, Mrs. Acheson and Dr. 
Taylor, who came out yesterday from the city to spend 
the day with us, congratulated us upon the coolness of 
the temperature at Chappaqua. 

The morning was passed out of doors playing croquet 
and walking 

" Sotto i pini del boschetto," 
to use the words of the coquettish Countess and her 
arch waiting-maid in the " Marriage of Figaro " (that 
Letter Duo contains, I think, some of the most deli- 
cious music that the joyous Mozart ever wrote). 

The sun was too hot after our early dinner, for us 
to find much pleasure in croquet; so we sat in the 
music-room, and upon the piazza, and listened to a few 
songs from Marguerite, and watched the skill of papa 
and the handsome blond doctor in the " Magic 
Kings," — a very easy game, to all appearance, but 
one which really requires much dexterity of hand. 



The Music-roojn. Ig 

The music-room is, I think, the coolest and pleas- 
antest room in the house. It is one of the additions 
built by uncle after he had purchased tliis house — a 
large, square room on the ground floor, with curtained 
windows opening upon the balcony, and upon the old 
apple-tree. It is singularly favorable for music, for it 
contains no heavy furniture, and the floor is un- 
carpeted. We had intended to remove all the pictures 
from the walls, that they might not deaden the sound 
of the music, but we could not resist an exquisite 
" Mary in the Desert," purchased by uncle in Flor- 
ence, in 1851 ; so this painting is now hung over the 
piano. 

Our sprightly brunette friend with the merry black 
eyes, Mrs. Acheson, looked unusually pretty and 
charming yesterday. I love to describe stylish toilettes 
as well as any fashion- writer ; so here is hers in all its 
details : steel-colored silk trimmed with turquoise blue, 
demi-traine, her hair beautifully dressed (or coiffkred, 
to use the fashionable newspaper word) in puffs and 
rolls, and finished with a little blue feather ; while an 
elegant fan attached to half a yard of gold chain de- 
pended from her belt. 

When the 4.45 train was at hand, Ida and I walked 
down to the station with our friends. Quite luckily 
there was a drawing-room car attached to the train, 
although such luxury is generally confined to the ex- 
press, which does not stop here. I learnt, however, 



8o The Bridal Car. 

from the station-master, that this car had borne some 
happy pair as far as Albany the day before, had stayed 
there over-night for repairs, and was now returning in 
a leisurely manner to New York. 



CHAPTER YII. 

I\Iidstiminer Day — An Artist's Visit— Ida's Letter — Moon- 
light on Croton Lake— Morning Eeadings — Plato and 
Kohlrausch. 

June 21. 

In lienor of Midsummer Day, Marguerite and I 
have spent the morning at the piano, playing Men- 
delssohn's delicious fairy music from the Midsummer 
Night's Dream. 

We have had little time to practise or read tliis 
week, for company has been of almost daily occur- 
rence. Marguerite returned yesterday morning from 
a flying visit to the city, accompanied by our friends, 
Colonel Rogers and Mr. Hows, the artist, who is a 
neighbor of ours in our rural part of the city — Cottage 
Place. Colonel Rogers was dressed entirely in gray, a 
costume that looked delightfully cool, and was a per- 
fect matcli for his eyes. 

The morning was spent in playing croquet, and in 
showing our guests over the place, whose wild beauty 
delighted Mr. Hows' artistic eyes. We walked first 
to the flower-garden, where we gathered flowers to 
dress the table for dinner, and then visited the pine 
grove, the romantic dell, and the stone barn of which 
4* 



82 Ida's Letter. 

uncle was always so proud, where we spent an hour 
amid the sweet hay. 

For the evening a drive was proposed, as we have 
now quite recovered from our former dread of mala- 
ria. Ida held the ribbons on this occasion, and as I 
was not one of the party, I will insert her graceful 
description of the pleasant evening. 

"Chappaqua. 

" Dear Julia : I was so sorry to get your letter 
saying you could not come. I wish you had not let 
your tiresome old dressmaker deprive me of the 
pleasure of your company on our expedition to Croton 
Lake. 

" I must tell you all about the delightful time we 
had. Two of the numerous friends of our blue-eyed 
Marguerite, Colonel Rogers and Mr. Hows, whose ex- 
quisite pictures you and I have so often enjoyed to- 
gether, were our cavaliers on this occasion. As our 
light carriage only has room for four, I drove the 
ponies myself. We started just about sundown, and 
the pleasant coolness of evening came on while there 
was still daylight enough to light up the constantly 
changing panorama of hill and dale, and forest and 
distant river, beyond which the blue mountain range 
dimly seen, now seemed to emerge into bolder relief, 
and again to fade back into cloud-land. 

" Mr. Hows' delight in the scenery was certainly 
equalled by mine in listening to its praises. 1 am 



An Evening Drive. 83 

very fond of this part of Westchester, and when peo- 
ple talk of the beauties of the Adirondacks, I listen 
with the silent conviction that we have everything 
here but the musquitoes and the bad cooking, with 
both of which I cheerfully dispense. 

** But to return to our drive. The last mile the 
road ran through a dark forest, following the course 
of a stream called E,oaring Brook, which generally 
makes good its title to the name, but now, owing to 
the recent drouth, was reduced to roaring as gently 
as Bottom's Lion promised to do. At last the lake 
was reached, and turning to the right, we were 
soon skimming along at a great pace on the wide 
boulevard that skirts the water as far along as Pine's 
Bridge. There we put up our ponies at a hotel with 
an impossible and unpronounceable Indian name, and 
accepted the Colonel's kind invitation for a row. We 
all regretted there was no moon, with as much self- 
reproach as if it had been accidentally left behind, 
but were glad enough to get into our little white boat, 
that looked quite silvery against the dark current. 

" The gentlemen, who had been dying to hear Mar- 
guerite sing ever since coming out here, now suggested 
that her voice was all that was needed to make the 
hour perfect ; so Marguerite, who is as sweet and un- 
affected about her singing as if she hadn't the most 
exquisite soprano ever heard off the stage, consented 
without any tiresome urging, and asked what it should 



84 Music on the Lake. 

be. We were evenly divided between * Kobin Adair ' 
and Mario's ' Good-bye, Sweetheart,' so our pretty 
songstress kindly gave us both. 

" I cannot recall the delicious effect of her singing 
as we were drifting along in the sombre twilight, better 
than by quoting Buchanan Kead's charming lines, 
which I dare say you have seen before : 

'"I heed not if 
' My rippling skiff 

Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff ; 
With dreamful eyes 
My spirit lies 
Under the walls of Paradise. 

' ' ' Under the walls 

Where swells and falls 

The bay's deep breast at intervals ; 

At peace I lie, 

Blown softly by 

A cloud upon this liquid sky. 

" ' No more, no more 
The worldly shore 
Upbraids me with its loud uproar : 
With dreamful eyes 
My spirit lies 
Under the walls of Paradise.* 

" I. L. G." 

June 24. 
The week commenced with a dash of rain, but this 
morning it was again as hot as though no clouds had 



Reading in the Grove. 85 

darkened the sky. Croquet was out of the question, 
and not even for the sake of trying my new beaver 
and stylish habit, so becoming to a slight figure, could 
I confront the dust and the sun's blazing rays upon 
Nancy's back (for such is the unromantic name of the 
horse that oftenest has the honor of bearing me when 
we ride). No one seemed inclined to drive, so Lady 
Alice and the Duchess, that had been for some time 
impatiently stamping, and arching their pretty necks, 
evidently impatient to be off, were sent back to the 
stables, much amazed, I doubt not, at our capricious 
conduct; while we — mamma, Marguerite, and I — 
sauntered up to the cool pine grove, accompanied by 
Arthur, bearing a camp-chair for mamma, and a 
couple of wise-looking tomes, in whose society we 
were to spend the morning. 

But I have not yet introduced Arthur. He is 
neither brother, cousin, ^oy fiance, but bound to us by 
almost brotherly ties, having been our playmate when 
we were little children ; and after the death of his 
parents (our eminent historian Richard Hildreth, and 
his gifted artist wife), he became mamma's ward, and 
was our constant companion in Italy and France. 
Arthur has come on from Cambridge, where he has 
just taken his degree as a lawyer, to make us a visit 
of some weeks, and we have had much pleasure talk- 
ing over with him those poetic days that we passed 
together in Florence and Venice. 



S6 Plato's Dialogues. 

But OUT life is never made up of talking and dream- 
ing, delightful though it may be, and we have a cer- 
tain amount of reading to do every day, which we 
despatch as conscientiously as we do our prayers. 
There is no rule, however, limiting the reading to any 
one person, and Arthur often relieves us of that duty. 
I enjoy his reading very much, especially when oue of 
Plato's *' Dialogues " is the lesson of the day, for into 
them he throws so much enthusiasm and dramatic 
force, that they are quite a revelation to me. I was 
amused this morning, upon turning over the leaves of 
my journal of last winter, to find my first impressions 
of the " Dialogues " thus laconically expressed : 

" I have to-day commenced to read Plato aloud. I 
cannot say that I find him very refreshing as yet ; still 
I try to admire him as much as I conscientiously can." 

I must confess that at first the abstruse subtleties 
of Socrates and his brother logicians were too much 
for my little brain, but now that I am more familiar 
with them, I quite delight in following their argu- 
ments. These " Dialogues " remind me of a fugue 
in musical composition; only melody is wanting to 
make the resemblance perfect, for here, as in the 
*' Well-tempered Harpsichord," one train of thought 
is taken up, viewed from every side and in every 
light — that is to say, pursued through every possible 
key only to return and end at the original starting- 
point. 



CHAPTER YIII. 

Story-telling- — Mr. Greeley's Father — His Personal Appear- 
ance — His Education — A Fine Voice — Mr, Greeley's 
Mother — A Handsome Woman — How she is remembered 
in Vermont — Field Labor — Bankruptcy — A Journey to 
Vermont — School Days — The Boy Horace — How he 
entertained his Playmates — His First Ball — Separation 
from his Family. 

June 25. 

" "What a delightful evening for story-telling ! " 
said Gabrielle, as she listened to the heavy rairi-drops 
falling uj^on the leaves of the old apple-tree ; " will 
you not give us one, Aunt Esther ? " 

*'Yes," said Ida and Marguerite, drawing their 
chairs closer to mamma's sofa. "Do tell us about 
yourself when you were a young girl, and about grand- 
papa and grandmamma ! " 

" Ah," said mamma, with a sigh, " you children 
have never known my dear parents ! " 

Marguerite was the only one of the young quartette 
who remembered having seen grandpapa, and lier 
recollections of liini were confused with memories of 
people in Europe, where our childhood was spent. 

" How did he look when you were a little girl, 
mamma ? " I inquired. " I think he is quite impos- 



88 Mr. Greeley's Father. 

ing in your little picture taken the year before he 
died, and he must have been very handsome when he 
was young." 

*' He was not only handsome : he was an unusual 
man," said mamma, decidedly. " No biographer, in 
speaking of our family, has ever estimated him cor- 
rectly, and even dear brother himself does not give 
sufficient importance to father's fine character and 
mental qualities ; but you know that he left home 
when a boy of fifteen, and after that time he only saw 
father at long intervals. 

" You remember, Cecilia, that all the foreign 
sketches you have ever read of brother, announce 
that his parents were * common peasants,' while 
many American writers, although they do not use the 
word * peasant,' convey a similar impression. Father 
was by no means a common man, for to be ' common ' 
one must be vulgar or ignorant, and father was 
neither. He was not uneducated, although his school- 
ing was very slight ; but he was a good reader, was 
very skilful in arithmetic, and wrote an excellent 
hand — an accomplishment for which our family are 
not celebrated — beside possessing a hoard of self- 
acquired information upon different subjects. During 
the long winter evenings in our lonely Pennsylvania 
home, he taught us younger children arithmetic, and 
was very fond of giving us long sums to puzzle out. 
I have often heard him say to brother Barnes, 



His Voice. 89 

*' ' You must store your mind with useful knowl- 
edge, that when you go out into the world you will 
have something to talk about as well as other people.' 

" A poor farmer in those days did not have much 
opportunity to acquire accomplishments, as you may 
well imagine ; but father possessed one talent that, if 
properly directed, might have made his fortune and 
ours. I have never yet heard a natural voice that 
excelled your grandfather's ; a high, clear, powerful 
tenor, with unsurpassed strength of lungs, which, 
added to his handsome presence, would have made 
him one of the finest singers that has yet trodden the 
boards. Of course his voice was uncultivated, with 
the exception of the slight training of country singing- 
classes, and the songs that he knew were simple 
ballads ; but his memory was very retentive, and his 
singing was in great demand when company was pres- 
ent. At husking-parties and apple-bees, when supper 
was over and the young people wished to dance, if no 
fiddler was present, father would be petitioned to 
sing. I have often known him to sing country dances 
for hours, and he sung so heartily, and marked the 
time so well, that the young people enjoyed the danc- 
ing as much as if the music had been furnished by the 
most skilful violinist. 

*' I told you that father was a handsome man. He 
had large blue eyes, soft, silky, brown curls clustering 
around a magnificent brow, a set color in his cheeks, 



go His Personal Appearance. 

and a hand that the hardest field labor could not de- 
prive of its beauty — long, tapering fingers, and pointed 
nails, such as novelists love to describe, but in real life 
are rarely seen outside of the most aristocratic families. 
His teeth were small, white and even, and at the time 
of his death, when eighty-seven years old, he had only 
lost one. His figure, though less than six feet, gave 
the impression of a much taller man ; for he was slen- 
derly built without being thin, and his carriage was 
almost military. To this fine presence was added an 
air of dignity and almost hauteur^ that was very un- 
usual in a poor farmer. But father was proud to an 
unparalleled degree. Indeed, it was his pride that 
caused him to plunge into the wild forests of Pennsyl- 
vania. His haughty nature could not bear the life of 
subordination that he led in Vermont, where he did 
not own an acre of land, and was obliged to work 
under the orders of others, often far inferior to him, 
and where he fancied the story of his flight from New 
Hampshire was known to every one. Smarting with 
mortification, he toiled until he could save a few hun- 
dred dollars to buy some acres in the wilderness, far 
from all his former associates, and there he buried 
himself with my dear mother and their five little chil- 
dren. But these morose feelings were somewhat sub- 
dued as the years rolled on. 

"With his children he was affectionate, but, like an 
old-school father, very distant. He never struck one 



Mr. Greeley's Mother, 91 

of lis in his life — a glance being sufficient to enforce 
obedience, or subdue the wildest spirits. He was 
always as particular about the etiquette of the table as 
though we were served by footmen in livery ; and in 
our poorest days, when cups and saucers were scant 
and spoons still more so, we were obliged to observe 
the utmost decorum till we were helped ; and any 
laughing or chatter among the younger ones was imme- 
diately quelled by the emphatic descent of father's 
fork upon the coverless table, with the words, * Chil- 
dren, silence ! ' 

" Father was highly respected by our neighbors in 
Pennsylvania, and was often urged to accept some 
county office. However, he always declined." 

"Do you think, mamma," said Marguerite, "that 
grandmamma was as handsome as grandpapa ? " 

A pause of a moment or two. 

" They were very different," was her reply. 
" Mother had neither father's brilliant face, nor his 
imposing presence, but she was a very handsome 
woman. She had soft blue eyes, a perfectly straight 
nose, a mouth rather large, perhaps, for beauty, but 
full of character, brown hair tinged with red, and a 
transparent, though not pallid complexion. If you 
wish more minute details, look at your uncle's picture^ 
No man ever resembled a woman more strikingly than 
he did our dear mother." 

" In a recently published life of UDcle," said I, 



92 Idd^s Anecdote. 

" the author speaks of grandmamma as often working 
in the fields, and describes her as large and muscular, 
and possessing the strength of a man. Is not that an 
exaggeration ? " 

*' Mother was above medium height," was mamma,*s 
reply, *' but her figure was slender, with small and 
well-shaped hands and feet. It was her pride that 
water could flow under the arch of her instep ; and 
her fingers, notwithstanding the hard toil of daily 
life, remained so flexible, that, when fifty years old, 
she could still bend them backwards to form a drink- 
ing-cup." 

" Let me tell you, Aunt Esther," interposed Ida, 
'* how grandmamma is remembered in Vermont. 
When Gabrielle and I were quite small children, we 
went there on a visit, and papa took us to see some 
old lady (whose name I have forgotten) residing in 
Westhaven. This lady had known grandmamma very 
well, and, after contemplating Gabrielle and I for some 
time, remarked curtly, * Neither of you children are 
as handsome as your grandmother was.' " 

This uncomplimentary remark caused us all to laugh 
heartily. Mamma then resumed her story. 

" As for field labor, your grandmother may, while 
we were in New Hampshire, have sometimes assisted 
father for a day or two, during the pressure of haying 
or harvesting time ; but never, since I was old enough 
to observe, can I recollect seeing her work in the fields. 



Dark Days. 93 

Certainly mother was not a woman to hesitate to do 
cheerfully whatever necessity required. But she had 
quite enough to occupy herself at home with the entire 
duties of a house, with the spinning, weaving, and 
making up of all the linen and woollen cloth that the 
household used ; and the care and early instruction of 
her little ones — for it was her pride that all of her 
children learned to read before going to school. I re- 
member that when I was first sent to school, at the age 
of four, the teacher, with a glance at my tiny figure (for 
I was a small, delicate child), called me up to read to 
her, and opened the book at the alphabet. Deeply in- 
jured, I informed her that I knew my letters, and 
could read over in * An old man found a rude boy in 
one of his apple-trees,' — a fable that all familiar with 
Webster's Spelling-book will remember. 

'' My first distinct recollection of mother is in the 
dark days in New Hampshire. Father, as you know, 
had lost everything that he possessed, and was obliged 
to fly into the next State to escape imprisonment for 
debt. After he left, his furniture was attached and 
sold. I remember seeing strange, rough men in the 
house, who pulled open all the trunks and chests of 
drawers, and tossed about the beautiful bed and table 
linen that mother had wrought before her marriage. 
Another picture, too, is impressed indelibly upon my 
mind — how mother followed the sheriflT and his men 
about from room to room with the tears rolling down 



94 yotirney to Vermont. 

her face, while brother Horace, then a little white- 
haired boy, nine years old, held her hand and tried to 
comfort her, telling her not to cry — he would take 
care of her. 

" But mother, although humiliated and heart-sore 
at the poverty and disgrace that lay before her so 
early in her married life, was not a woman to fold her 
hands and think sadly of what 

" ' — might have been.' 
She wiped away her tears, and her busy fingers were 
soon preparing warm hoods and dresses to protect her 
little ones from the bitter cold during the journey 
that lay before us, for in the course of two or three 
months father had by hard toil earned money suffi- 
cient to send for us. I remember very well that 
journey over the mountains covered with snow into 
the State of Vermont, and our establishment in what 
was called the ' small house by the ledge ' in the little 
neighborhood of houses clustering on and about the 
old Minot estate. 

*' You children, accustomed as you have been from 
your infancy to the attractive text-books of the pres- 
ent day, would quite scorn the system of instruction 
at the school I attended in Westhaven. I went there 
three winters, but although I soon rose to the first 
class in reading and spelling, in which branches I was 
unusually precocious, my education was confined en- 
tirely to those two departments of learning. Few 



School Days. 95 

text-books were then used in the school, for the 
parents of the children were generally too poor to pay 
for many, and the musty old Grammar and Arithme- 
tic were kept in reserve for the older scholars. On 
account of my youth the teacher did not advance me, 
and I went again and again through the old Spelling- 
book, and learnt by heart what was called the *fore 
part of the book' — some dry rules of orthography, 
which never conveyed the slightest idea to my mind, 
although I repeated them, parrot-like, without missing 
a word, and which the teacher never thought of ex- 
plaining to me. From the spelling-book I was in 
time promoted to the New Testament (not as easy 
reading as might have been selected, by the way) 
This was followed by the American Preceptor, and 
subsequently by Murray's ' English Reader,' a work 
reserved for the most advanced scholars. 

*' My brothers did not go to school during tne sum- 
mer months, for their services were then required to 
assist father in his work ; and I, too, had to leave 
school every day at eleven o'clock to carry their 
dinner to them at the place, a mile and a half distant, 
where they were clearing a portion of the Minot estate. 

*' When brother Horace was thirteen years old he 
was taken out of school, as the teacher could instruct 
him no longer. I was kept at home also, and brother 
taught me, giving me lessons in arithmetic and pen- 
manship, which studies had been prohibited me at 



96 Visits fro7n School Girls. 

school. Here commenced a most tender attachment 
and sympathy between brother and I. As there were 
two children — Barnes and sister Arminda — between 
us, our difference of years had hitherto kept us some- 
what apart; but after brother had been for several 
months my instrvictor, we were from that time the 
nearest in heart in our large household. 

" I think that mother must have entirely regained 
her spirits during the foiir years that we lived in Ver- 
mont, for I remember that men, women, and children 
alike delighted in her society, and our house was the 
centre of the little neighborhood. We resided very near 
the school-house, and rarely did a morning pass without 
a visit from some of the girls, to have a few words of 
greeting from mother on their way to their lessons. 
When recess time came, they would arrive in num- 
bers to spend the time with her, and beg for a song 
or a story from the inexhaustible supply with which 
her memory was stored, and there they would remain, 
fascinated by her sweet, low voice until she would be 
obliged to playfully chase them out of the house to 
compel them to return to school. From the teacher, 
for tardiness, punishment was a very frequent occur- 
rence, but it made slight impression upon the girls in 
comparison with the enjoyment of listening to one of 
mother's thrilling or romantic stories, for the follow- 
ing day they would return to our house to again risk 
the penalty. 



Children's Parties. 97 

" I told you that brother taught me after we were 
taken out of school. He was the gentlest and kindest 
of instructors, and was always ready to lay do^vn his 
own book to help me out of any difficulty that my 
lesson presented, although it was by no means easy to 
make him close his book under other circumstances? 
such as the solicitations of his young friends to join 
them in a game. 

" I have described father to you as a stern man in 
his every-day intercourse with us, but although his 
motto was * Work,' he was always willing to grant us 
a holiday or a play-hour, when he thought we had 
earned it. He would relax his dignity, too, somewhat 
when young people came to pass the evening with us ; 
would encourage us to play games and dance, and 
would often join us; for, although he never played 
cards himself, nor would he allow them to be played in 
his house, he himself taught us how to dance. 

" When our young friends came to see us, there was 
much rejoicing from brother Barnes, who was full of 
life and spirits, and always ready to play, and from 
Arminda and myself; but brother Horace, not at all 
allured by blind-man's-buff or a dance, would retire 
to a corner with a pine knot (for in those days candles 
were few), preferring the companionship of his book to 
our merry games. Coaxing was all in vain : the only 
means of inducing him to join us was to snatch away 
his book and hide it ; but even then he preferred to 
5 



98 Mr. Greeley's First Ball. 

gather us quietly about him and tell us stories. I re- 
member that before he left home he had related to us, 
among other things, the thousand and one stories of the 
' Arabian Nights,' and * Robinson Crusoe.' This gift 
of story-telling he inherited from mother, whose tal- 
ent in that line certainly equalled that of the beautiful 
Sultana Scheherazade herself. At this time, although I 
had never seen a copy of Shakespeare, I was familiar 
with the names and plots of all his imaginative, and 
many of his historical plays, which mother would re- 
late to us in her own words, embellished now and then 
with bits of the original verse, as she sat at her spin- 
ning-wheel, or busied herself about the household 
work. 

" It was, I think, at this same time — our last year 
in Vermont — that a large ball, for young people only, 
was given in our neighborhood. Much speculation 
was excited among our young friends as to whether 
Horace would dance at this ball, and especially if he 
would fetch a partner with him. It was the general 
opinion that he would not, as he did not bear a high 
reputation for gallantry. Great, then, was the aston- 
ishment of all present when Horace entered the ball- 
room with Anne Bush, the prettiest girl in the 
neighborhood, upon his arm. He opened the ball with 
her, and his deportment quite silenced those who had 
questioned his appearance. 

'* Before long, preparations for another journey were 



Leaving Vermont. 99 

in progress. Father had earned money sufficient to 
buy some land, and I heard that we were going to 
Pennsylvania. I was, however, too young to be much 
impressed by this news, and it was not until I saw 
mother once more in tears that its importance 
was apparent to me. This time mother wept as bit- 
terly as before, for not only was she to be separated 
by a greater distance from her family in New Hamp- 
shire, to whom she was fondly attached, and from the 
pleasant circle of friends she had made in Westhaven, 
but her darling among us children, her beautiful eld- 
est boy, of whom she was so proud, was to be left in 
Vermont." 



CHAPTER IX. 

A Picnic at Croton Dam — The Waterworks — A Game of 
Twenty Questions — Gabrielle as a Logician — Evangeline's 
Betrothal— Marguerite's Letter — Description of Chappaua 
— ^Visitors — Edmonia Lewis. 

Jxme 26. 
Gabrielle and I have just returned from spending 
the day at Croton Dam. A large party from the 
prominent families of Chappaqua was organized by 
Miss Murray, the pretty daughter of one of our neigh- 
bors, and at nine o'clock a number of carriages, packed 
to overflowing with young people and lunch-baskets, 
and led off by a four-horse wagon, started cara van- wise ' 
from the place of rendezvous, Mr. Murray's elegant 
grounds. 

The drive was a very pretty one, skirting for some 
distance the beautiful little lake that supplies the great 
thirsty city of New York ; and the spot chosen for the 
picnic — shady, terrace-like heights, with a gradual 
slope to meet the water, and a lough bench here and 
there — was declared the most suitable place in the 
world to lay the cloth. One or two members of the 
party remained behind to unload the carriages, count 
the broken dishes, and estimate the proportion of con- 



A Picnic. lOi 

tributious — many people fetching salt in abundance 
but forgetting sugar, whilst others furnished elabo- 
rately frosted cakes, but omitted such necessaries as 
knives and forks. Meantime, we climbed the stone 
steps leading to the waterworks, and after a glimpse 
of the seething dark-gi-een Avater through the heavy 
iron gi-ating, we hunted up the overseer and asked 
him to unlock the doors for us, that we might have a 
nearer view. He assented, and admitted us very 
obligingly, giving us meantime a graphic description 
of the yearly journey of the Inspector in a boat down 
the dark passage to New York, and pointing out the 
low narrow place of entry from the water-house where 
they must lie down in the boat. 

Dinner hour is generally a most interesting moment 
in a picnic, and this was the time when the young 
gentlemen showed their gallantry by partaking only of 
such viands as had come from the baskets of their 
favorites among the young ladies. 

A cloth was spread upon the ground ; seats were 
extemporized for the ladies out of carriage cushions, 
waterproofs and wraps; the knives, forks and plates 
were dealt out as impartially as possible, and we 
passed a very merry hour. 

When the repast was over, the party dispersed — 
some to play croquet, others to row upon the lake, or 
to stroll about under the trees ; some young ladies pro- 
duced books and bright bits of fancy-work, while 



102 Playing Games. 

Gabrielle, Arthur and I, with our pretty captain, Miss 
Murray, and one of her attendant cavaliers, decided to 
pass away the time by playing a game — no trivial 
game, however ; neither " consequences " nor fortune- 
telling, but an eminently scientific one entitled 
'' Twenty Questions." For the benefit of the unini- 
tiated I will remark that the oracle chooses a subject 
(silently), and the others are allowed to put twenty 
questions to him to enable them to divine it — usually 
commencing with " Is the object that you have in 
your mind to be found in the animal, vegetable, or 
mineral kingdom ? " 

Gabrielle is very clever in this somewhat abstruse 
game, for she possesses her mother's spirit of inquiry 
and love of reasoning, and she passes entire evenings 
with Arthur, pursuing the most perplexing and intan- 
gible subjects. She and Arthur are admirably matched 
in this game ; for if she is unparalleled in the quickness 
with wliich she will follow up a clue and triumphantly 
announce the mysterious object, after asking eighteen 
or nineteen questions, Arthur is no less adroit in 
selecting unusual subjects, and so artfully parrying her 
questions as to give her the least possible assistance. 
I often hear them call to each other — 

" I have chosen a subject ; you will never in the 
world guess it ! " 

Then follows an hour of questions and reasoning, 
with inferences drawn and rejected, and a display of 



Twenty Questions. 103 

sophistry that would do credit to a more fully fledged 
lawyer than Arthur is at present. 

Yesterday, after dinner, they launched into one of 
their games, and Gabrielle guessed after eighteen ques- 
tions what would have required forty, I am sure, from 
any one else — the eighty -eighth eye of a fly ! 

Another was even more puzzling. The object be- 
longed, Arthur assured her, to the vegetable kingdom, 
the color was white, and he had often met it within a 
dozen yards of the railway station. " A daisy," was 
the first and natural solution, but she was, he assured 
her, very far adrift. *' A telegi'aph post," she next an- 
nounced, but she was again unsuccessful. At this point 
I left them ; but after an hour had passed Gabrielle 
ran up to my room to tell me that she had guessed 
it — a polka dot upon one of her morning dresses ! 

The object chosen by Arthur at the picnic was the 
right horn of the moon. Gabrielle, this time, sat 
beside me and enjoyed the perplexity of the ques- 
tioners, for not until we were about to step into the 
carriage to return home did they guess it. 

June 27. 
A letter this morning from our pretty cousin Evan- 
geline, announcing that she is engaged to a Dr. Ross 
of Chautauqua county, where she lives. Evangeline 
is the only daughter of mamma's youngest sister, Mar- 
garet. She is eighteen years old, of medium heiglit, 
and well formed, with a fair complexion, the chestnut 



104 Evangeline's Betrothal. 

hair that is peculiar to the younger members of the 
Greeley family, and brown eyes inherited from her 
father's family, for the Greeley eye par excellence is 
blue. Although Evangeline has been brought up in 
the quiet little village of Clymer, she has been well 
educated, and besides being uncle's favorite among his 
nieces, she was much admired in general society dur- 
ing the winter that she spent with us in New York 
two years ago. At uncle's birthday party, which she 
attended, she was by many pronounced the handsomest 
young lady present. 

We have never seen Dr. Ross, but mamma remem- 
bers his family well, and says that " he comes of a good 
stock." He is not wealthy, but he is in a good pro- 
fession, is of unexceptionable character, and very 
devoted to our dear Evangeline; so they have my 
blessing. The marriage will not take place until 
December, when Evangeline will have laid off her 
mourning. 

Marguerite's portfolio is open upon her writing- 
table, and a letter to Evangeline, not yet sealed, lies 
between the blotting-sheets. As it speaks of Evan- 
geline's betrothal, I will insert it here : 

" Chappaqua, June 27. 

*' Dearest Evangeline : — You complain in your 
last letter that I do not write enough about Chappaqua 
and * the farm.' You wish particulars. My sweet 



Marguerite s Letter. 1 05 

cousin, I tliouglit that you were familiar with descrip- 
tions of this clearest spot on earth, as I remember that 
dear uncle gave each of us a copy of his ' Recollec- 
tions ' the last Christmas that you were with us — the 
last Christmas indeed that he spent upon this earth. 
Peruse that volume, dear, for in it you will find a more 
vivid picture, a more poetic description of his dearly 
loved home and surroundings, than anything that I 
can say. 

" As to Chappaqua being a large or small village — 
it is small, very small, not half so large as Clymer, 
where you live ; but it is far more picturesque. There 
are only a dozen or two houses in all, including a 
couple of stores, a post-ofB.ce, a * wayside inn,' and a 
church without a bell. There are, however, many 
fine residences scattered over the township; which- 
ever way we drive, we see elegant mansions nestling 
in a copse of wood, or crowning some hill-top. 

" The valley through which we approach Chappaqua 
is faced on either side by a succession of beautiful 
undulating hills that are thickly covered with dark- 
green foliage. This farm, consisting of eighty-four 
acres (for you know that there is another lying adja- 
cent of nearly the same size), presents very beautiful 
and varied scenery. Near the house in the woods, 
where uncle and aunt lived so many years, a pretty 
brook winds down by the lower barn, and goes sing- 
ing away through the meadows bright 



io6 - The Roadside House. 

" ' With steadfast daisies pure and white.' 

But this is not all ; this lovely, babbling brook fills a 
large pond, high up in the woods, then flows over a 
stone dam, and comes rushing down in a succession 
of waterfalls, stopping for breathing-space in one of 
the wildest story-telling glens I ever saw. 

" And here, in the gloom of the forest-trees, where 
the birds love to congregate, and a thousand perfumes 
of clover and new-mown bay, and the aroma of the 
evergreen grove, come up, Ida and I spend many an 
hour, forgetful of city life, and heedless about ever 
returning to it. 

"This year we are occupying the roadside house, 
which, although not so beautiful as the new one on the 
side-hill, nor so retired and romantic as the one in the 
woods, still is lovely and has a very charming prospect. 
It stands on sloping ground that is skirted by forest and 
fruit trees. Some of them throw their grateful shade 
on the piazza and balcony that run the width of the 
front of the house. My room opens on the balcony 
by three French windows, and here I often walk to 
catch the last gleam of departing day, or linger after 
nightfall to see the far-away stars come out. The 
moonrise here is perfectly enchanting, climbing up as 
it does over the eastern hills, and throwing its pensive 
light over the silent meadows, and distant, dark woods. 

" But I have filled my sheet before speaking of 
your engagement. As I have not seen your hand- 



A Visit. 107 

some doctor, you will not expect me to be enthusiastic. 
I hear that he is intelligent, clever in his profession, 
and of excellent character, but not rich. Well 
Evangeline, you know I approve of wealth, combined 
with other good qualifications ; but if I had to choose 
between a man of mind and a man of money, I don't 
think I would hesitate long which to take : so you are 
sure of my approbation, and you have my best wishes 
for your future happiness. 

" Your loving cousin, 

" Marguerite." 
June 29. 
A visit yesterday from our friend Mrs. Sarah L. 
Hopper, the clever contributor to several Southern 
journals. Among them the Washington Gazette, and 
the True Woman — the latter an anti-suffrage journal. 
Mrs. Hopper not only writes well ; she is also a woman 
of varied and excellent reading, and the appreciation 
of the modern classics is displayed in one of her 
poems — an admirable apostrophe to the character and 
works of Dante. This poem, which was published 
some time since, Mrs. Hopper once recited to us, and 
both mamma and I were struck with the true ring of 

poesy so apparent in it. 

June 30. 
Upon returning from church yesterday, we found 
the front door standing open, a couple of arm-chairs 
upon the piazza, and a newspaper or two in lieu of 



io8 Visitors. 

the occupants — proof unmistakable of a masculine in- 
vasion. Who it was we could not imagine ; that it 
was not a neighbor we were convinced by seeing the 
morning Herald and Times, for the Sunday papers 
cannot be obtained here, save by being at the depot 
when the interminable way-train comes up from New 
York, and waylaying the newsboy who accompanies 
the cars ; and for this our neighbors are rarely 
sufficiently enterprising. Unmistakably our visitors 
had come from the city. 

Ui^on questioning Minna, she gave us a graphic 
description of the gentlemen. On© was " tall, oh so 
tall ! with dark hair and red cheeks " — in him we 
recognized Mr. Walworth Ward — the other was a 
blonde gentleman whom she had seen here before. 

" Lina has already made wine 2:)adding^'' she said, 
seeing Ida about to descend and inspect the larder. 
«' Miss no fret— all right." 

Ida and I then started to walk to the grove, where 
we thought we would probably find our guests await- 
ing our return. Not there, indeed, but in the vege- 
table garden we found them, where they were kindly 
looking after the interests of the family by weeding 
the strawberry-beds, regardless of the Sabbath, and 
notwithstanding one of the gentlemen was a grand- 
son of a D.D. In answer to our regrets that we 
should have been absent when they arrived, they 
mildly intimated some surprise, one having telegraphed 



Edmonia Lewis. 109 

his proposed coming, and the other sent a message 
through papa the day previous ; dear papa, however, 
had as usual forgotten to deliver the message, and 
•whither the telegram went, no one could imagine. 

July 1. 

A visit yesterday from the little colored sculptress, 
Edmonia Lewis. Miss Lewis was accompanied by a 
box of formidable size, containing, she told us, a 
marble bust of Mr. Greeley, which she had brought 
out here for the opinion of the family ; but as Ida 
was in the city where she had gone for a day's shop- 
ping, we reserved our judgment until she should re- 
turn and see it with us. 

I was very glad to learn that Miss Lewis was 
prospering in both a pecuniary and an artistic point 
of view. She had, she told me, received two orders 
for busts of uncle — one from the Lincoln Club, and 
one from a Chicago gentleman. She intends return- 
ing to Rome before long. 

Miss Lewis had already opened a studio while we 
were in Rome four or five years ago, and I heard 
much talk about her from her brother and sister 
artists. I intended at one time to visit her studio 
and see her work, but several sculptors advised me 
not to do so; she was, they declared, " queer," ''un- 
sociable," often positively rude to her visitors, and 
had been heard to fervently wish that the Americans 



no Her Position Abroad. 

would not come to her studio, as they evidently looked 
upon her only as a curiosity. When, therefore, I did 
see her for the first time (last summer), I was much 
surprised to find her by no means the morose being 
that had been described to me, but possessed of very 
soft and quite winning manners. She was amused 
when I told her what I had heard of her, and re- 
marked, quite pertinently : 

" Hov/ could I expect to sell my work if I did not 
receive visitors civilly ? " 

Miss Lewis expressed much gratitude to Miss 
Hosmer and Miss Stebbins for their kindness to her in 
Rome, and of Miss Cushman she said enthusiastically, 
" She is an angel ! " 

She is, I have been told, very well received in 
society abroad, and when baptized a Catholic in Home, 
two ladies of high position. Countess Cholmondeley 
and Princess Wittgenstein, offered to stand godmother 
for her. Edmonia chose Lady Cholmondeley, whom 
I remember well in Home as a great belle and a highly 
accomplished woman. She wrote poetry, 1 was told, 
and modelled in clay with much taste, and her finely 
trained voice and dainty playing of the harp I well 
remember as one of the attractions of Miss Cushman's 
receptions. 

Edmonia has, beside her somewhat hard English 
appellation, two pretty baptismal names — Maria 
Ignatia. 



CHAPTER X. 

Cataloguing the Library — A Thousand Yolumes— Contrasting 
Books — Some Rare Volumes — Mr. Greeley's Collection of 
Paintings — Authenticity of the Cenci Questioned — A Por- 
trait of GalOeo — Portrait of Martin Luther — Portrait of 
Greeley at Thirty— Powers' Proserpine — Hart's Bust of Mr. 
Greeley — Mosaics and Medallions. 

July 2. 
This morning we have had a family picnic at the 
side-hill house, where the amusement was, however, 
neither "Twenty Questions," gossip, nor croquet; 
but arranging and cataloguing uncle's large library. 
The books had hitherto been kept in the house in the 
woods, with the exception of those in daily use, filling 
three good-sized bookcases in our present residence ; but 
as the house in the woods had been twice broken into last 
winter, Ida thought it safer to move them all down this 
summer to the side-hill house, where Bernard sleeps. 
Accordingly, a wagon-load or two was brought down 
the other day and deposited in the dining-room, and 
this morning, as we had no guests, and no very press- 
ing occupations, we all, including Minna, went up 
there directly after breakfast to look them over. 
" I am resolved," Ida had said, " to have the books 



112 Cataloguing the Library. 

catalogued, that I may know in future how many I 
yearly lose by lending them to my friends." Conse- 
quently the work was doubled by the necessity of 
writing down the names, and we had unluckily chosen 
the hottest day that we had so far experienced for this 
laborious task. We all went to work, however, with 
as much energy as though the temperature was at a 
reasonable degree, and I felt quite proud of my 
achievements when the work was done, having cata- 
logued, myself, over three hundred volumes. 

Our work was divided : mamma read off the names 
of the books, and Marguerite and I wrote them down, 
and Minna then dusted and carried them into the next 
room to Ida, who placed them upon the shelves, divid- 
ing the library into compartments for poetry, biog- 
raphy, science, fiction, etc. An endless task it seemed 
at first to sort the books, for more than one thousand 
volumes of all sizes and in every variety of binding 
from cloth to calf, had been thrown promiscuously on 
the floor, and the hottest antagonists in the political 
and religious world were now lying side by side in the 
apparent enjoyment of peace and good- will. " Slavery 
Doomed " and '' Slavery Justified " composed one 
externally harmonious group, while " Footfalls on the 
Boundary of Another World," " How I became a 
Unitarian," and Strauss' " Life of Jesus," lay beside 
their rigidly orthodox neighbors, the " Following of 
Christ," by Thomas \ Kempis, Cardinal Wiseman's 



The Books. 1 1 3 

*^ Doctrines of tlie Church," and a Jesuit Father's 
idea of the Happiness of Heaven. 

Uncle's fondness for his country home was mani- 
fested by thirty or more large volumes upon Agriculture, 
and several others upon Rural Architecture, while his 
literary and aesthetic taste was displayed by a superb 
edition of Macaulay, in eight octavo volumes, combin- 
ing the whitest of paper and the largest and clearest 
type, with richest binding; Lord Derby's transla- 
tion of the Iliad, Mackay's " Thousand and One 
Gems," a large and elegant volume of Byron's com- 
plete works, and Bryant's " Library of Poetry and 
Song" — the two latter beautifully bound and illus- 
trated. Xenophon, Herodotus, Josephus, and Csesar 
lay off at an aristocratic distance from their neighbors, 
and looked down with scorn upon anything so modern 
as l!^oel's " Kebellion," or Draper's " Civil War in 
America;" while memories of the buried "Brook 
Farm" arose from the past as mamma took up a vol- 
ume or two upon Co-operative Associations. 

Uncle's strict temperance principles were illustrated 
by half a dozen volumes upon the " Effects of 
Alcohol," including " Scriptural Testimony against 
Wine ; " and a work or two upon the Tariff Question 
recalled many a Tribune editorial penned by the dear, 
dead hand. 

A large dark pile of some twenty volumes loomed 
up from a distant corner — Appleton's useful Cyclo- 



1 1 4 Rare Volumes. 

paedia — and beside them lay an enormous Webster's 
Dictionary, handsomely put up in a chocolate-colored 
library binding. 

Many elegantly bound volumes were presentation 
copies from their authors — among them a magnificent 
album of languages, beautifully illuminated, and bound 
in scarlet morocco, containing the Lord's Prayer in 
one hundred different tongues. This book sold, Ida 
said, for one hundred dollars a copy. 

In striking contrast with this gorgeous volume were 
two little yellow-leaved, shabbily bound books, valued, 
however, at one hundred dollars each, and treasures 
which no money could have bought from uncle — one a 
copy of Erasmus, dated Basle, 1528, and the other 
" The tvvoo Bookes of Francis Bacon on the Proficience 
and Aduancement of Learning, diuine and humane," 
printed, the fly-leaf states, at London, in 1605. 

July 3. 
I have not yet, I believe, spoken of more than one 
or two of the pictures that uncle bought while in 
Europe the first time. He then spent ten thousand 
dollars on paintings, a piece or two of sculpture, and a 
few little curiosities of art in the way of mosaics and 
antiquities from difierent ruins of Italy, which, for 
a man who was by no means a Stewart or an Astor, 
showed great liberality. Uncle could not afford, like 
ostentatious millionnaires, to dazzle the public with 



Our Pictures. 1 1 5 

paintings bought by the yard ; but for a man of his 
means he displayed, I think, a true love for art and 
a strong desire to encourage it. His purchases, too, 
were very different from the second-rate pictures so 
often purchased abroad by uncultivated eyes, for 
instead of depending merely upon his own judgment, 
he asked the assistance of the sculptor Story in choos- 
ing his souvenirs; and his collection, though small, is 
admirable, containing two or three hona-fide old mas- 
ters, purchased at the sales of private galleries in Flor- 
ence and Rome. 

The pictures, like the books, have been kept hith- 
erto in the house in the woods, but this spring Ida 
moved them all to the roadside house that we might 
constantly enjoy them, and the parlor now presents 
quite the appearance of a museum. It is over the 
music-room, and its long French windows open upon 
a balcony, from which we daily admire our tender, 
Italian-like sunsets. To the right it is overhung by 
the branches of our favorite apple-tree, from whose 
clusters of tiny fruit we each chose an apple some 
days since. Gabrielle then marked them with the 
owner's initial cut out of paper, the form of which we 
will find in the autumn indelibly impressed in the 
apple's rosy cheek. 

But to return to our museum. Upon ascending the 
stairs one's eyes first rest upon the " very saddest face 
ever painted or conceived," as Hawthorne describes 



Ii6 Beatrice Cenci. 

the beautiful Cenci. While in Rome I resided upon 
the Piazza Barberini, opposite the palace containing 
this exquisite painting, and I visited it with a devo- 
tion almost equalling Hilda's. Much excitement pre- 
vailed that winter in art circles concerning the 
authenticity of this picture, and hot discussions took 
place wherever the believers and unbelievers chanced 
to meet. No possible proof existed, one party would 
declare, that Guido had ever painted Beatrice Cenci; 
and no one had thought of it as other than a fancy head 
until Shelley had aroused the interest of the public in 
the half-forgotten tragedy of poor Beatrice's sad life 
by the sombre drama, " The Cenci." From that time, 
they say, caprice has christened this picture Beatrice 
Cenci, and Hawthorne has added much to its interest 
by the prominence he gives it in the " Marble Faun." 
They, however, are unable to find the traces of sorrow, 
the "tear-stained cheeks" and ''eyes that have wept 
till they can weep no more," so eloquently described 
by all writers and art-critics of the present day; and 
so far I agree with them — the face does not impress 
me with such depths of woe. 

Their opponents, however, hold the time-honored 
tradition that Guido painted Beatrice in her cell upon 
the morning of her execution, or as she stood upon the 
scaffold — for there are two versions of the story — and 
that the gown and turban which she wears were made 
by her own hands on the night preceding the fatal day. 



What Hawthorjte says of it. 1 1 7 

But no words of mine can give a fair idea of this cele- 
brated painting: I will transcribe Hawthorne's de- 
scription of it. 

" The picture represented simply a female head ; a 
very youthful, girlish, perfectly beautiful face, envel- 
oped in white drapery, from beneath which strayed a 
lock or two of what seemed a rich though hidden lux- 
uriance of auburn hair. The eyes were large and 
brown, and met those of the spectator, but evidently 
with a strange, ineffectual effort to escape. There was 
a little redness about the eyes, very slightly indicated, 
so that you would question whether or no the girl had 
been weeping. The whole face was quiet ; there was 
no distortion or disturbance of any single feature, nor 
was it easy to see why the expression was not cheer- 
ful, or why a single touch of the artist's pencil should 
not brighten it into joyousness. But in fact it was 
the very saddest picture ever painted or conceived; it 
involved an unfathomable depth of sorrow, the sense 
of which came to the observer by a sort of intuition. 
It was a sorrow that removed this beautiful girl out 
of the sphere of humanity, and set her in a far-off 
region, the remoteness of which — while yet her face is 
so close before us — makes us shiver as at a spectre." 

Next to the Cenci a St. Francis hangs, his hands 
devoutly folded and his head bowed in pious medita- 
tion upon the sufferings of his Redeemer, whose figure 
bound upon the Cross lies before him. The skull at 



Ii8 A Portrait of Galileo. 

his feet and the dreary landscape surrounding him 
indicate his hermit-life of isolation and penance* The 
Saint is dressed in the coarse brown habit of a mendi- 
cant friar, and his face is luminous with that gentle- 
ness that distinguished his character after his conver- 
sion; for it is recorded of him that he would step 
aside rather than harm the smallest insect. 

Above St. Francis is one of the most precious gems, 
historically and intrinsically considered, of the collec- 
tion. The picture is small — only cabinet size ; but it 
is none the less valuable on that account, when we 
reflect that it dates fi'om the sixteenth or early in the 
seventeenth century. It is a portrait of Galileo 
painted from life by Andrea Bartone, and was bought 
at a sale of the Santi Gallery. Only the head and 
bust are represented — the latter clothed in a dark- 
brown 'open vest, with a scarlet mantle thrown over 
the shoulders ; but the face is one that would not 
easily be forgotten — a rugged, powerful face, with 
great, earnest eyes, scant hair well sprinkled with 
gray, and deep furrows lining the dark brow. 

Over the doorway, opening into the room that was 
formerly Aunt Mary's, is an antique marble medallion 
of Juno, the haughty Mother of the gods ; this was dug 
up near Tuscukim. 

Next comes an exquisite Madonna and Child by 
Carlo Dolce (a copy). The mother's face is youthful 
and radiant with divine beauty: the Infant Jesus 



Power's Proserpine. 1 1 9 

stands upon her knee, and extends a plump little hand 
in benediction. 

Next, a portrait of uncle painted in 1839 — two 
years earlier than the one that hangs in the dining- 
room. This picture, mamma says, was an excellent 
likeness of him when he was twenty -eight years old ; 
and the biographers who are so prone to describe him 
in his younger days as having been '^ uncouth " and 
" awkward," would be, I think, much startled if they 
could see it. His coat is black, with a black tie, 
like other gentlemen, and his air, instead of being 
"rustic" or "gawky," is expressive of gentle dignity, 
while his face, so often described as plain, is to me 
beautiful enough to have represented a young saint. 

Next these pictures is another medallion — the 
"Mother of the Gracchi," and under them a small 
table upon which stand several marble curiosities : a 
model of the tomb of Scipio, Minerva issuing from the 
head of Jupiter, and two busts of Roman soldiers in 
the time of Titus — antiques, and quite yellow and 
valuable. 

In the centre of the parlor is a round table bought 
in Rome, and made of variegated marble taken from 
the ruins of the palace of the Caesars. 

In a corner, upon a handsome pedestal, stands 
Powers' bust of Proserpine, of which uncle Avas 
especially proud. He speaks of it in his " Glances at 
Europe," in these words : 



120 A Portrait of Luther. 

" I defy Antiquity to surpass — I doubt its ability 
to rival — Powers' Proserpine and his Psyche with any 
models of the female head that have come down to us ; 
and while I do not see how they could be excelled in 
their own sphere, I feel that Powers, unlike Alexander, 
has still realms to conquer, and will fulfil his destiny." 

A very prominent picture, and one that was a great 
favorite with uncle, is an original portrait of Luther, 
by Lucas Cranach, one of the great lights of the Flem- 
ish school of painting. I have seen in the Dresden 
Gallery the counterpart to this picture, painted by the 
same artist, but representing Luther after death. I 
much prefer the animated expression of the living 
j)icture, for it is hard to think of the fiery reformer as 
dead, even at this late day. 

Over the sofa is a large Holy Family, a painting in 
the school of Raphael, and underneath it hangs one of 
our most valuable pictures — a veritable Guercino, 
painted in 1648. The subject is St, Mary Magdalen. 

I wish that I had time to write in detail of all the 
beautiful things in the parlor — a card-table made like 
the centre-table of classic marble from the ruins of 
Pome, an exquisite moonlight view of a Benedictine 
Convent upon the Bay of Naples, with a young girl 
kneeling before the shrine of the Madonna ; a Vene- 
tian scene— the Doge's palace with its graceful, Moor- 
ish architecture ; St. Peter and St. Paul ; the Cumsean 
Sybil, a beautiful female figure whose partly veiled 



Vittoria Colonna. 12 1 

face seemed full of mystery ; St. Agatha, and an Ecce 
Homo. There are still some more marble medallions 
that I have not mentioned ; several valuable antiques, 
portraits of 'Alexander the Great and Tacitus, and a 
bas-relief representing the flight of ^neas — the 
former fonnd near the Appian Way — and two others 
that are comparatively modern — likenesses of Pope 
Clement XI., and Vittoria Colonna, the gifted Italian 
poetess of the fifteenth century. 

But I have not yet spoken of the pearl of our 
museum. This piece of sculpture was not one of 
uncle's Italian purchases, nor does it date back for 
centuries, but it is priceless to lis, especially as it is, 
we believe, the only copy now existing. I allude to 
the bust made of uncle in 1846 by Hart, the Kentucky 
sculptor. This bust was the first work of importance 
that Mr. Hart had ever executed, for he was then in 
the first flush of manhood, and the early vigor of that 
genius that has since wrought out so many beautiful 
creations. Then, however, he had not modelled his 
fine statue of Henry Clay, ordered by the ladies of 
Virginia, nor had he even dreamed of his lovely 
*' Triumph of Woman " that when finished will send 
his name down to posterity, as our greatest creative 
American sculptor. 

Mamma was living with uncle when Mr. Hart 
arrived in New York with a commission from Cassius 
M. Clay to make this bust, and she has often told me 
6 



122 Mr. Greeley sits for his Bust, 

all the circumstances of the sittings. Uncle was then, 
as ever, extremely busy, and it was very difficult for 
him to give Mr. Hart an occasional half hour for a 
sitting. As ordinary means failed, Mr. Hart brought 
his clay and instruments to The Tribune office, and 
there he worked whilst uncle rested from his daily 
editorial labors ; but even while " resting," his lap was 
full of newspapers, and he could not afford the time to 
"pose," for his eyes were rapidly scanning their 
columns. 

" I never," said mamma, " knew an artist to make 
such a study of another's face as Mr. Hart did of 
brother's. He was not content with a mere sitting 
from him now and then ; he visited him at the house ; 
he watched his face in company, and attended every 
occasion when he spoke in public, that he might model 
him, he said, in his best mood. Consequently the bust 
was the most perfect likeness that had ever been made 
of brother, and as his face was then delicate and his 
features so classic in their cut, it was, I thought, the 
most beautiful piece of sculpture that I had ever seen. 
It was quite a revelation to dear brother, who in his 
modesty had never had an idea of his own beauty." 

Ten plaster busts were struck off for the family and 
a few intimate friends, but as none of them were ever 
put into marble, they have all, I believe, with the ex- 
ception of this one, been destroyed. Mamma's copy 
was overthrown by Marguerite's little hands when a 



Fate of the Busts. 123 

child; another belonging to one of our cousins was 
broken by her little son ; and although Cassius Clay's 
copy was buried, Mr. Hart told me, during the war to 
save it from the hands of the soldiers, he had no rea- 
son to suppose that it finally had escaped the fate 
of the others. Aunt Mary, however, in her anxiety 
to preserve her copy, at once enveloped it in linen, 
and packed it in a box. Consequently it is now as 
perfect as the day it left the studio ; but mamma had 
never seen it from that time until this spring, when 
Ida exhumed it from the store-room. 

Mr. Hart and uncle were always warm friends, 
although Mr. Hart left for Europe soon after com- 
pleting this bust, where he has since remained, with 
the exception of a flying visit to America about twelve 
years ago. Uncle speaks of visiting his studio in 1851, 
in these words (" Glances at Europe," page 217) : 

" I saw something of three younger sculptors now 
studying and working at Florence — Hart of Kentucky, 
Gait of Virginia, and Kogers of New York. I believe 
all are preparing to do credit to their country. Hart 
has been hindered by a loss of the models at sea from 
proceeding ^vith the statue of Henry Clay, which he is 
commissioned by the ladies of Virginia to fashion and 
construct ; but he is wisely devoting much of his time 
to careful study, and to the modelling of the ideal, be- 
fore proceeding to commit himself irrevocably by the 
great work which must fix his position among sculp- 



124 Mr. Greeley s Opinion of Mr. Hart. 

tors, and make or mar his destiny. I have great 
confidence that what he has ah-eady carefully and 
excellently done is but a foretaste of what he is yet to 
achieve." 



CHAPTER XI. 

The Fourth of July — A Quaker Celebration — The House in 
the Woods — IMrs. Greeley's Life there — Pickie — Mary 
Inez — Raffie — Childhood of Ida and Gabrielle — Heroism of 
Mrs. Greeley— The Riots of 1863— Mrs. Greeley defends 
her House against the Mob. 

July 5. 

Yesterday was the 2:)leasaiitest Fourth I ever 
experienced in America. Last year at this time I 
was upon the Catskill Mountains, and was aroused at 
an unearthly hour by the discharge of a cannon, whose 
reverberation was something appalling, and made me 
doubt if I was not shot. The hotel was graced with 
the presence of some thirty or forty children, whose 
fond parents had invested largely in fire-crackers and 
toy caniK)n for them, and no place upon the grounds, 
it seemed, was so favorable for ths ebullition of youth- 
ful patriotism as the spot directly under my window. 
Consequently, as I was already weak from the eifect of 
a prolonged attack of nervous fever, I was before 
nightfall in a state akin to distraction, and filled with 
anything but patriotic sentiments. I could not then 
but think with regret of a previous Fourth spent upon 
the steamship St. Laurent, where tire-crackers were 



126 TJie FoiirtJi in CJiappaqiia. 

tabooed, and the celebration consisted entirely of a 
magnificent dinner, and speeches — during the latter I 
made my escape to the deck. 

This year was pleasanter still. I do not know if 
the Chappaqua people are less patriotic than other 
citizens of the Union, but our nerves were only dis- 
turbed by the occasional popping of a fire-cracker in 
the garden of our neighbor, the train-master over 
the way ; and when we strayed off" to the G len after 
dinner, we were as free from disturbing noise as 
though our country had not been born ninety-seven 
years ago. But although noisy demonstrations do not 
seem the fashion here (perhaps owing to the predomi- 
nance of Quakers in the neighborhood), the dormant 
enthusiasm of the people for the Fourth was aroused 
at sundown, when a mass meeting was held at the 
tavern, or *' Chappaqua Hotel " as it is grandly styled, 
and lengthy and energetic speeches were delivered. 
From our piazza we could hear the orators' voices 
ascending to a very high key as they warmed with 
their topic, and quite congratulated ourselves that we 
were not obliged to be of the audience. 

After dark there was a small display of Koman 
candles and sky-rockets; and so ended the glorious 
Fourth. 

July 6. 

I have again dreamed away an entire morning upon 
the piazza of the house in the woods — to me the still- 



The House hi the Woods. 127 

est, sweetest spot in the world. I have described this 
dear old house and its romantic surroiindinofs again 
and £.gain since I have been here this summer. I can 
scarcely turn over half a dozen leaves of my journal 
without finding some allusion to it; but it is a subject 
possessing such fascination for me that I must again 
revert to it. I like to pass a quiet hour upon the 
steps of the piazza, or upon the large moss-grown boul- 
der in front of the house where Ida, Kaphael, and 
Gabrielle have all played ; and while my fingers are 
busily employed with some fanciful design wrought 
with gold thread or emerald-green silk, 

" My thoughts wander on at their own sweet wiU," ^ 
oftenest returning, however, to Aunt Mary's life here 
in the woods with her little children. A lonely, com- 
fortless life many women would have deemed it, so 
entirely shut in as she was from the outer world ; and 
to any one less self-reliant and self-sustained than 
Aunt Mary it would have been so. For that there 
were discomforts in her country life I do not doubt, 
although they were much lessened by uncle's easy cir- 
cumstances ; and the house itself was finished off with 
all the city improvements and conveniences practi- 
cable to introduce into a building of its size and situa- 
tion. Still, the house was distant from good markets, 
and the trees encircled it so closely that the sun's rays 
did not penetrate the rooms until ten o'olock; but 
Aunt Mary loved her trees as though they were 



128 Raphael and Pickie, 

human, and at that time would not allows one to be 
cut down, notwithstanding the dampness that they 
created. An idle woman would have regretted the 
distance at which the house stood from the public 
road, as no distraction ensued from looking out of the 
windows ; and a timid or nervous one would have 
dreaded the long nights in that solitary house when 
uncle was in the city or absent upon lecturing tours, 
and no neighbor was within calling distance in case 
of danger. 

Occasionally, too. Aunt Mary would be left without 
servants, for all American ladies know how difficult it 
is to retain them in the country, especially in so small 
and lonely a place as Chappaqua was then, and 
although she frequently had some friend making her 
long visits of months, still there were days when she 
would be alone with only the sad memory of her 
buried darlings, her splendid Pickie, the pride and 
hope of both parents, and sweet little Mary Inez, and 
her two living children, too young to be very compan- 
ionable. 

Raphael, mamma says, was a beautiful boy, although 
not perhaps so noticeable as Pickie, for he had not his 
brilliant color, and his hair, too, was not so dazzling 
in shade, but very much like his father's. His 
features, however, were quite as finely cut as those of 
his much admired brother, and his temperament was 
gentle and loving. Ida cherishes very tender mem- 



Childhood of Ida and Gabrielle, 129 

ories of him, for he was the only brother whom slie 
knew, and her constant playfellow before Gabriel le's 
birth. There were seven years difference in the ages 
of the brothers. Pickie died at five, of cholera ; and 
Kaffie at seven years old, of croup. 

But although Aunt Mary had sucli sad memories in 
the past, she had two beautiful children left to her, 
and for them she lived this life of seclusion at Chap- 
paqua, remaining here six months of every year that 
they might acquire a fine physical development from 
walking, driving, and riding in the pure country air. 
Ida has often told me of the wild games of play she 
used to have when a child with Osceola, a little In- 
dian boy, and dwelt especially upon her prowess in 
racing down hill in emulation of him. The parents of 
this boy then occupied the roadside house, which did 
not at that time belong to uncle. 

Gabrielle's stories are different. She loved to ride 
the unbroken colts, and tend her menagerie in the 
play-house. She has, too, much to tell about the way 
her mother used to train her to be as fearless in case 
of fire or thieves as she was when seated upon a bare- 
backed horse, and often she has made me smile, though 
fully recognizing the wisdom of Aunt Mary's lessons, 
when telling me how she was obliged to rehearse 
imaginary escapes from fire or midnight attacks. 

Besides a devoted love for her children, a passion 
for the beautiful in Nature, and fondness for solitude 



130 Mrs. Greeley s Heroism. 

and books, or the companionship of some one person 
of congenial tastes and highly cultured mind, Aunt 
Mary possessed a fund of moral strength and heroism 
that one might indeed read in the flash of her black 
eyes, but which a casual observer would think incom- 
patible with her frail figure. It was, however, many 
times severely tested during uncle's absence when she 
had no male protector to whom to look for assistance : 
but then she proved all-sufficient in herself. At one 
time a number of workmen were employed upon the 
place — rough, sullen creatures — who used to come to 
her to receive their pay ; and knowing her, a delicate, 
sickly woman, to be there alone, they would often 
clamor for more wages than they were entitled to 
receive, but never could they frighten her into grant- 
ing it, for though generous and charitable, nothing 
was more repugnant to her feelings than an attempt 
to take an unfair advantage of her. 

Upon one occasion, a man with whom she had had 
some business transactions came to claim a payment 
that was not due him. Aunt Mary explained to him 
that he was not entitled to it, and refused to see him 
again. He returned another day, and she would not 
allow the door to be opened. He then remained out- 
side pulling the bell and thumping for admittance.' 
Aunt Mary spoke to him from the balcony above, and 
requested him to leave. He vowed he would not stir 
without his money, and tried to coerce her by the most 



The Riots ^/ 1863. 131 

frightful threats and oaths. When his imprecations 
were at their highest, Aunt Mary descended, and 
throwing open the door, told liim to come in ; then 
turning to Gabrielle, who stood beside her, said : 

" Go upstairs and fetch my pistol off from the 
bureau." 

Upon hearing these words the man left very 
quickly, and never returned again to annoy her. In 
relating this incident to me, Gabrielle said : 

" Of course I knew perfectly well that I would find 
no pistol upon the bureau, but I had been too well 
trained by mamma to show the slightest surprise, and 
promptly went upstairs in quest of imaginary fire- 
arms." 

But this exhibition of cool courage paled in contrast 
with the true heroism of Aunt Mary displayed at the 
time of the terrible anti-draft riots in July, 1863. 
Living in the retirement of the woods, she was not in 
the habit of going down to the village or associating 
with the neighbors ; consequently, she was rarely in- 
formed upon the local news. She wondered that no 
letters or papers had arrived for a day or two, but 
merely supposing that some accident upon the road 
had delayed the mails, she went about her ordinary 
occupations, perfectly unconscious of the peril she was 
in. Finally, Mr. Quinby, a Quaker neighbor, came 
to the house by a long circuit, and informed her that 
a mob of about three hundred men, who had collected 



132 The House is threatened. 

from Sing Sing and other parts of the country, were 
drinking at the tavern, and threatening to sack 
" Greedey's house," and hang the family to the nearest 
trees. It was at the risk of his life that Mr. Quinby 
had come to warn Aunt Mary, and he implored her to 
escape as quickly as possible, and offered to conceal 
her and the children in his house. 

Aunt Mary did not shriek or fall down in a faint- 
ing fit upon learning that hundreds of desperate men 
were threatening her life. Although she had been very 
ill and was still weak, perfectly cool and collected, she 
considered what was best to be done. Her husband 
was in New York, and of the dozen or so Irish labor- 
ers employed upon the place, two or three had already 
been seen drinking amicably with the rioters, and the 
others, as well as the Irish servant, she feared to trust. 
Clark, the overseer, a very competent Englishman, 
was an excellent shot ; but what could one man do 
against three hundred? As for saving herself by 
deserting her house. Aunt Mary scorned to do it ; but 
immediately devised a plan that reminds one of the 
heroism of a Dame Chatelaine of the Middle Ages. 

First of all, the valuables were to be moved, but 
without exciting the suspicions of the servant or work- 
men, as they might inform the rioters. The men were 
accordingly sent off to a distant part of the farm to 
work, and the maid kept busy, while twelve trunks 
were lowered into a wagon standing at the back of the 



Preparations for the Mob. 133 

bouse. Mr. Quinby immediately covered them with 
hay, and drove to his own house, where he stored 
them until the trouble should be over, and then sent 
his son back to help the family. 

To Gabrielle's surprise, her mother and Ida now 
appeared in very voluminous and housewifely looking 
aprons, and were constantly going up and down stairs. 
At last an untimely draught blew Aunt Mary's apron 
aside, and Gabrielle, who had not been infoi-med of the 
danger, caught a glimpse of the picture of the Archangel 
Gabriel. All of the pictures and pieces of sculpture 
were then removed to a little hut in the orchard near the 
stables, built in the side of a hillock, half under ground, 
and quite overgrown by vines ; and when both pictures 
and the precious books were safely out of the house 
Aunt Mary felt that she could breathe. By that time 
Clark had returned from Sing Sing, where he had pur- 
chased a large amount of gunpowder by Aunt Mary's 
direction. This he arranged in a train from the house 
to a distant point, and the preparations were then com- 
pleted. When the rioters should come Aunt Mary was 
to speak to them from the balcony and warn them to go 
away, and in the meantime Mr. Quinby and Clark were 
to take the children out of the house by the back win- 
dow, which was but a step to the top of a low woodshed, 
from wliich they could easily get to the ground. Then, 
while the rioters were storming the barricaded doors. 
Aunt Mary was to make her escape, and when she and 



134 T key fear to attack Her. 

the children were at a safe distance a match was to be 
applied to the gunpowder, blowing up alike house and 
rioters. 

Mr. Quinby, being a Quaker, had looked on reluc- 
tantly while the mine was being laid, and when he had 
done all he could to help Aunt Mary, he returned to 
the tavern to see the state of affairs there. He found 
the mob still drinking, and uttering horrible threats 
against the family. His conscience then obliged him 
to give the wretches a hint of the doom that awaited 
them, ending with these words : 

" Heed my warning, my brethren ; Horace Greeley 
is a peace man, but Mary Greeley will fight to the 
last ! " 

After dark, the rioters came to the gates and howled, 
and uttered threats, but dared not approach very close 
to the fortress armed by a sick woman and two chil- 
dren ; and when weary of exercising their lungs went 
peacefully away. Meantime, Aunt Mary, being 
fatigued by the exertions of the day, laid down, Ida 
said, when everything was in readiness to meet the 
rioters, and slept peacefully till morning. 



CHAPTER XII. 

Pen Portraits — Lela — Majoli — Guerrabella and Celina — Their 
Characteristics. 

July 8. 

While looking over a box of old letters and news- 
papers this morning I came across a little sketch 
descriptive of our quartette, written last winter for a 
New York journal. This sketch, or " Pen Portraits," 
as it was styled, veils our identity under fictitious 
names, the initials only being preserved, and although 
it passes over our imperfections and very much exag- 
gerates our accomplishments, still it contains, I think, 
so much that is characteristic that I will preserve it by 
copying it into my journal. The writer commenced 
with a description of mamma's room in Cottage Place, 
and dwelt particularly upon a picture of uncle hanging 
over the mantelpiece, but that portion of the sketch 
has been torn off and lost. 

" But let us regard the living 

pictures. You see that youthful group ! A group to 
inspire a poet or painter ! They are four — they are 
cousins. Two are orphans ; you see a resemblance to 
the face in the frame wreathed in immortelles. We 
will first observe those two that sit with arms en- 
twined, smiling np into each other's eyes. It is the 



136 Two Cousins. 

gentle Lela * and her cousin Majoli, helle Majoli we 
may call her. These cousins are nigh the same age, 
and their hearts beat in sweet accord. And there is a 
certain likeness, spiritual more than physical — for 
Majoli is taller and slighter, and fairer, too, if we 
reckon by the hue of the hair and color of the eyes. 

" Lela has soft, soliciting, brown eyes ; Majoli is 
azure-eyed, laughing or languid according to her vary- 
ing mood. Lela's face is pale as moonbeams ; filial 
solicitude and divine sorrow have left their chastening 
impression upon her exquisite lineaments. Her coun- 
tenance is Madonna-like in purity, ingenuousness, and 
self-abnegation. 

" Majoli's delicate features are untouched by pain 
or care, and though her spiritual countenance is often 
tinged with melancholy, no harsh experience has 
traced those pensive lines. 'Tis but the soul's limning 
— a musical nature is hers, emotional and imaginative. 

" Lela's head is large, though not unfeminine, and 
the magnificent wealth of tawny-colored hair reminds 
one of Guercino's Holy Magdalen. She has pretty, 
modest ways of looking down under those pale, droop- 
ing lids with her calm, confiding eyes, and if the 
mouth is somewhat large, the teeth are white and 
even, and the lips are coral-tinted. The nose is 
straight and slender, and suggests the chisel of Phidias, 

* For Lilian, Ida's second name. 



Lela. 137 

and from the expansive brow we infer a broad culture 
and comprehensive understanding. It is the seat of 
Philosophy, as well as the throne of the Muses. 

" Majoli's head is smaller than Lela's, but its pose 
is aristocratic and graceful. The blonde hair is artis- 
tically coiffed, and though the features are not strik- 
ingly regular, there is sympathy and great sweetness 
in the face, and art and refinement are expressed even 
by the slim, pale hands. An airy, lithesome figure 
she has, and the beat of her footfall is cadenced to the 
measure of joyous music. Frail she seems compared 
with Lela's well-rounded figure, but if she has not equal 
strength, she has elasticity ; and if more energy and 
power is indicated by the physiognomy of Lela, 
Majoli has ambition and judgment to compensate. 

" We have compared Lela's face to the rich por- 
traiture of Guercino ; Majoli's suggests the pencil of 
that famous old Spanish master, E-ibera, whose pict- 
ures of women were always a blending of the elegance 
of a court lady with the simplicity and naivete of a 
church devotee. Half belle, half religieuse we may 
style her. 

" And on what have these dainty minds been nur- 
tured, and who have been their intellectual mentors ? 
Lela has been bred within a cloister's walls, and for- 
eign travel has polished both mind and manners. 

'' In no school has Majoli's mind been formed, nor 
is she greatly indebted to learned professors for her 



138 Majoli. 

mental attainments. A mother's love has quickened 
the budding intellect, a mother's intelligence has 
trained and directed the unfolding powers. The grace 
of foreign speech is on her tongue, and scenes and 
pictures of distant lands are enshrined in her memory. 
Ancient lore has for her a peculiar charm ; history is 
her delight; Plutarch, Josephus, Gibbon, Macaulay, 
she has conned well. Poesy she loves much. The 
poetry of the Bible, Dante, Schiller, Herbert, Brown- 
ing, are her favorites. In sacred books she finds 
sweet enjoyment. The Fathers of the Church aiford 
her great pleasure; St. Augustine, St. Basil, Thomas 
a Kempis, etc. She has the grace of devotion, but her 
love of the Church is affected more by its sesthetical 
qualities than its theological dogmas. 

" Lela is a passionate book-lover. There are few 
modern writers that have not furnished entertainment 
to her accomplished mind, and she is not unacquainted 
with the best Latin and Greek authors. English, 
German, and French literature are alike open to her. 
Biography, essays, dramas, poetry, with more serious 
reading, occupy her time. Virgil and Horace, Bacon, 
Shakespeare, Racine, Victor Hugo, Heine and George 
Eliot may be mentioned as among her preferences. 

"But while we are attempting to portray some 
noticeable characteristics in Lela and Majoli, how are 
Celina and Guerrabella occupied ? You see Guerra- 
bella has a pencil in her hand. She is sketching a 



Guerrabella. 139 

head ; if we look closely, we shall probably recognize 
our own, grotesquely drawn, for there is no denying 
that our young genius is fond of caricaturing her 
friends. Celina sits by a table ; her large, open eyes 
have a distant, dreamy expression. Her pen moves 
rapidly across the page ; she is writing a Musical 
Recollection, we may presume. 

" Guerrabella is the youngest of the group. She is 
tall, picturesque, imposing. Her face is radiant with 
blushes, dimples, and smiles. She looks so fresh and 
beautiful that she might have set for Greuze's picture 
of 'Sweet Sixteen.' A sense of thorough enjoyment 
flashes from the bright blue-gray eyes, and is indicated 
by the rose-bloom on cheek and lips. There is an air 
of strength and courage perceptible, and a certain dash 
in her manner that associates her with Scott's favorite 
heroine, Di "Vernon. She has great mimic powers, 
and might adorn the histrionic stage. Towards art 
and literature she seems equally attracted, and what 
she will eventually decide to follow we cannot now 
predict. She will fail in nothing for want of talent. 

" Celina's height scarce reaches to Guerrabella's 
shoulder ; her figure is fragile and dainty ; and though 
her cheek lacks bloom, the lines are soft and graceful, 
and the face pensive and poetic. The mouth is small 
and well curved, and the air of repose that rests upon 
the imaginative brow resembles the Muse of Medita- 
tion. The serenity that is uniformly spread over her 



140 Celina. 

unique countenance is in strong contrast to the 
animated, vivacious features of her cousin. Celina's 
head is fashioned after a classic model, and the mass 
of amber-hued hair which crowns it might be taken 
for an aureola. Her pansy-like eyes are full of sweet, 
poetic vision. The brow is marked by delicately 
defined eyebrows, and the eyelasnes are long and 
silken. 'Tis a melodic countenance, foreshadowing 
that dream-world from which our young heroine has 
never for a moment awakened. Too petite, some 
might deem her, for womanly perfection ; but physical 
symmetry, ease, and a dignified bearing elevate the 
fairy figure to the true standard. She moves about 
with an airy grace, and nothing earthly is lighter than 
her footfall. Her small, delicate hands grace the key- 
board, and music in her has an enchanting interpreter. 

" Gruerrabella participates in the family passion for 
literature. She possesses great intellectual indepen- 
dence, and her preferences are decided, usually inclining 
to the bold and strong. She is fond of Macaulay's 
* Heroic Lays of Many Lands ; ' she rejoices in Becky 
Sharp; and there is a tradition that she learned to 
read in the works of Thackeray, spelling out the words 
of that magnificent novel, Henry Esmond. 

" Celina has explored the treasures of classic lore in 
music and literature. Homer, Herodotus, Plato, she 
has read, with Tasso and his chivalrous lays, and 
Spenser and his stately verse. In music, Gliick and 



Characteristic Toilettes. 141 

Gretiy, Beethoven and Boieldieu's dulcet tones have 
helped to fashion her musical mind. 

" But we must not dismiss our heroines without in- 
dicating the toilettes that most become them. Velvets 
and rich brocade befit the Lady Lela's superb figure. 
Scarlet is her color, and diamonds her essential orna- 
ment. The moss-rose should be her favorite flower. 

" Soft gray or pale azure of light fabrics do best agi'ee 
with Majoli's sylph-like form. Pearls and feathers are 
consonant to her artistic taste. Her emblematic flower 
is the lily, of sacred and legendary lore. 

" All shades and fabrics of whatever texture har- 
monize with Guerrabella's style. Ample should be 
the folds that habit her majestic figure, and brilliant 
the gems that are to rival her flashing, sparkling eyes : 
yet we might indicate couleur de rose as best blending 
with her own exquisite tints, and tlie opal with its 
mysterious light as in some way prefiguring her 
genius and high destiny. 

" And how shall we vest our mignonne — Celina ? 
Gossamer tissues, fabrics of airy texture — a magic web' 
for the daintiest Lady in our Land. No color of 
human invention ; their dyes would oppress her. 
White with a gleam of moonlight upon it ; a reflection 
of the aura of her hair, or the first pale beams of the 
morning. Other gems would I not but those won- 
drous starlike eyes, to light up a face radiant with 
thought and sensibility." 



CHAPTER XIII. 

Biography of Mr. G-reeley — G-abrielle's Questions — Mrs. 
Cleveland's Corrections — The Boy Horace not Gawky, 
Clownish, or a Tow-head — His Parents not in Abject Want 
— Mr. Greeley's Letter about his Former Playmates — Young 
Horace and his Girl Friends — He Corrects their Grammar 
and Lectures them upon Hygiene — He disapproves of 
Corsets. 

July 10. 

*^ Auntie, is it possible," said Gabrielle, indignantly 
running into mamma's room with an open volume in 
her hand, " that papa was as homely and awkward 
when a boy and young man as this writer describes 
him ? ' Tow-head,' ' gawky,' * plain,' and ' clown- 
ish,' are some of the most uncomplimentary epithets 
applied to him. He is described as having * white 
hair with a tinge of orange at the ends,' and as ' eat- 
ing as if for a wager;' while grandpapa, the writer 
says, was so poor that papa had to walk barefooted 
over the thistles, without a jacket, and in trousers cut 
with an utter disregard of elegance or fit, and it was 
remarked that they were always short in the legs, 
while one was invariably shorter than the other. 
Was it possible that grandpapa could not afford an 



Gabrielle s Questions. 143 

inch more of cloth to make poor papa's trousers of 
equal length, and was it true that papa never had but 
two shirts at a time until he came to New York, and 
that he never had any gloves? When he was an 
apprentice in Portland every one used to pity him, 
Mr. says, as he walked shivering to the Specta- 
tor office on cold winter days, thinly clad, and with 
his gloveless hands thrust into his pockets to protect 
them from being frost-bitten ! " 

"My child, you overwhelm me with your ques- 
tions," said mamma. " Let me take them singly, and 
T will do my best to refute this writer's unpleasant 
statements. 

" First as to personal appearance. You say he 
styles your papa * plain ' as a boy. That is absurd, 
for his features, like mother's, were as perfect as a 
piece of Grecian sculpture. ' Tow-head ' is also a mis- 
statement. Brother's hair never was at any time tow- 
color, and the tinge of orange at the ends existed only 
in the author's imagination. Tow-color, you know, is 
a sort of dirty white or gray ; whereas brother's hair, 
until he was thirty years old, was like Raffle's, pure 
white. After that time, it commenced to change to a 
pale gold-color, which never, however, deepened into 
orange. What was your next question, my dear ? " 

"About papa's wardrobe," said Gabrielle, her 
cheeks still flushed with excitement ; " were you 
indeed so miserably poor, auntie ? " 



144 How Mr. Greeley 

" We were certainly very poor after father failed," 
said mamma firmly, " but we were by no means 
reduced to abjectness. I can never remember the 
time, in our poorest days, when the boys had not, be- 
sides their brown linen work-day shirts, cotton shirts 
for Sunday, and father his ' fine shirt ' to wear to 
church and for visiting. Your papa was dressed suit- 
ably for our station in life — neither better nor worse 
than the sons of neighbors in our circumstances. As 
for going barefoot, all country boys at that time did so 
during the summer months ; your papa was not an 
exception. 

" You speak of his gloveless hands. I never saw a 
pair of kid gloves worn by farmers while we lived in 
Vermont or Pennsylvania ; and certainly they would 
have been very inappi-opriate for a boy-fa'i-mer or a 
printer's apprentice to wear ; but brother was always, 
both at home and at Poultney, supplied with warm 
woollen mittens of mother's knitting. As for the cut 
of his trousers, I am surprised that any sensible 
author should use so unfit a word as 'elegance' in 
speaking of a poor farmer's clothing. I told you the 
other day that our wardrobe for every-day wear was 
spun, woven, and made by mother, and it is not to be 
expected that home-made coats and trousers should 
have the cut of a fashionable New York tailor ; but 
they were, at all events, warm and comfortable. That 
brother's trousers were always short, and especially 



dressed as a Boy. I45 

in one leg, is an absurd fabrication. The story may 
perhaps have risen from some one who remembers his 
lameness in Poultney, when he acquired the habit of 
dragging one leg a little after the other, and that style 
of walking may have apparently shortened one of the 
trouser legs. Have you anything else to ask, little 



one 



9" 



'* Yes, auntie," said Gabrielle, smiling at mamma's 
methodical way of answering: " was papa an awkward 
boy, and did he eat vulgarly ? " 

" I have told you, dear," mamma replied, '^ how we 
were brought up. I never saw your papa eat raven- 
ously while he w^as at home ; for father was a despot at 
table, and any appearance of gluttony would have 
been quickly checked by the dreaded descent of his 
fork upon the table. I think it probable that later in 
life, when your papa became a distinguished man, and 
every moment was of value, that he did eat quicker 
than was consistent with the laws of etiquette, but not 
when he was a boy. 

*'As for his awkwardness, I can readily imagine 
that a boy so intensely preocupied would not nppcar 
in so favorable a light to strangers as one who should 
seek the society of people rather than books, and a 
superficial observer might have mistaken his air of 
abstraction for rustic bashfulnoss. You know that he 
was always absorbed in a book from the time he was 
three years old. Father would often send him to do 
7 



146 Mr, Greeley s Manners. 

an errand — to fetch wood or the like ; he would start 
very obediently, but with his eyes upon his book, and 
by the time he had reached the door he would have 
completely forgotten everything outside the page he 
was reading, and it was necessary to send some one 
after him to remind him of his errand. He certainly 
was very unlike every-day boys, not only in appear- 
ance, but in habits and moral qualities. Never did I 
hear a coarse or profane word pass his lips ; the purity 
of his soul was radiant in his beautiful modest counte- 
rs nance ; while his slender, boyish figure, with the pon- 
derous white head poised upon his long, slim neck, 
always reminded me of a lovely, swaying lily." 

" I have seen recently in some book," said Mar- 
guerite, " that uncle was never at his ease in polite 
society. This I think very absurd. To be sure he 
had not the manners of a dancing-master, but — " 

" Yes," interrupted mamma ; '' this statement is 
another of the usual exaggerations current about 
brother. As you say, he had not the manners of a 
danciug-master, and when importuned and annoyed 
by shallow people, may often have been abrupt with 
them; but when in society, T have always seen his 
company as much or more courted than that of any 
other person present, and have never known him to 
shrink or be embarrassed in the presence of people of 
distinction or rank. Few men have, I think, been 



His Lameness. 147 

more misrepresented, though often with the kindest 
intentions, than my dear brother." 

" You spoke of papa's lameness while at Poultney, 
Aunt Esther," said Ida, looking up from a letter that 
she was reading ; " pray how did he become lame ? 
Was it serious ? I do not remember hearing him men- 
tion it." 

" It occurred, I believe, in this way," said mamma. 
" Whilst your papa was in the Spectator office, he 
chanced one day to step upon a rough box, which 
turned over, and hitting him upon tlie leg, inflicted a 
cut below his knee. At first, brother thought it 
a mere scratch not worth noticing; but when 
he subsequently took cold in it, he found it very 
troublesome, and although he then consulted several 
medical men, they were unable to cure it. I do not 
remember hearing that he was ever confined to the 
house with it — probably because he could not afford 
to give up his work long enough to have it properly 
treated ; but for two or perhaps three years he 
limped to and from the office. When he went subse- 
quently to Erie, Pennsylvania, to work as a journeyman 
printer, the wound, which had partially healed, had 
again opened, and was very painful. Some old woman 
residing there, however, gave him a simple remedy 
which soon cured it permanently." 

''From whom is the letter that you are reading, 
Ida?" inquired Gabriel le, putting up her father's 



148 A Letter from Mr. Greeley. 

biography in a bookcase ; ** does it contain a request 
for a loan of $500, or is it an offer of a home in a 
Christian family ? " 

" Neither, for once," answered Ida. " It is from 
The Tribune office, and contains a slip cut from the 
Omaha -See, headed, * Horace Greeley upon Girls,' 
It appears that a lady. Miss Hewes, who did not know 
papa personally, wrote to him to ask if he recol- 
lected his first school-house, and a former playmate of 
his, named Reuben Nichols, whose acquaintance Miss 
Hewes had just made. Here is papa's answer, dated 
Washington, 1856. Let me read it to you, Aunt 
Esther, and tell me if you think it is genuine. 

" ' Miss Hewes : — As I do not know you, and am 
little interested in any but a part of your letter, you 
will allow me, in my terrible hurry — having two days' 
work that ought to be done to-day, while I must leave 
at evening for a journey to our Pittsburg Conven- 
tion — to speak only of that. 

"*I very well remember the red school-honse in 
which I first began to learn (the paint was worn off 
long since, and it was very far from red when I last 
saw it) ; I remember the Nichols children, who lived, 
just below the school-house, in a large house. But I 
was very young then, and I do not make out a clear 
mental picture of Reuben Nichols. I think he must 
have been considerably older than I. But I recollect 



Gabrielle Questions it. 149 

one Aseneth Nichols, one of two girls not much older 
than I, whom I thought very pretty, so that while I was 
a very good speller, and so one of the two at the head 
of the first class in spelling, who were entitled to 
" choose sides " for a spelling match; I used to begin 
by choosing these two pretty girls who couldn't spell 
hokee to save their souls. Well, this was found not 
to answer ; I knew enough to spell but not to choose 
sides ; so the role had to be altered, and the two next 
to the one at the head had the honor of " choosing 
sides." Ask Mr. Nichols if he had a sister Aseneth, 
and if he remembers any such nonsense as this. My 
kind regards to him. 

« « Yours, 

" * Horace Greeley.' " 

" I don't believe," said Gabrielle, " that papa ever 
wrote that letter." 

" It does not sound much like him," rejoined 
Marguerite, "with the exception of ^ Yours, Horace 
Greeley ' ; what do you think, mamma ? " 

" The letter is characteristic," was mamma's reply ; 
" the style is his, but there are several words that I 
have never known him to use; however, they may 
have been illegible in the original, and their place 
supplied by the printer's ingenuity. I remember 
hearing father and mother often speak of Reuben 
Nichols who lived near grandfather in Londonderry, 



150 His Style of Coiu'tship 

and I believe that he had a son named Reuben, and a 
daughter named Aseneth, so the letter must be gen- 
uine, I suppose." 

" Was it true, mamma ? " inquired Marguerite, 
" that uncle was fond of little girls ? You know it 
has been said of him that he was as a man quite in- 
different to women." 

" Yes, he was very partial to little girls," was 
mamma's reply, '' when they were pretty and gentle. 
Not, however, in the love-making way of the present 
precocious generation, but he liked to talk to them, 
and relate stories from the books he had read. Per- 
haps the secret of his preference lay in the fact that 
they made more attentive and sympathetic listeners 
than his rough boy-friends. 

" I told you the other day that at the ball he at- 
tended when thirteen years old, he was the escort of 
Anne Bush, the prettiest girl in the village. She was 
perhaps a year younger than he, and as I remember 
her, extremely pretty — a slender figure, cheeks like 
roses, blue eyes, dark hair, and very gentle, ladylike 
ways. She had a sister Sophie, who was as plain as 
Anne was pretty ; and a wild, mischievous girl, but 
my inseparable and dearest companion. 

'' There were two other girls of whom brother was 
very fond at that time ; Cornelia Anne Smith and 
Rebecca Fish. Cornelia Anne was older than the 
other girls, about fourteen, T think, and was the fond- 



as a Boy. 151 

est of learning of the trio. I remember that she often 
used to bring her school-books to brother when some 
difficulty had arisen in her lessons, and he would ex- 
plain the hard points. I think that he always cor- 
responded with these girls, and visited them occa- 
sionally after they became women, for you know with 
what tenacity he clung to his early associations. He 
has often spoken to me of Hebecca Fish, who is now 
Mrs. Whipple, of Fairhaven. 

" You would be amused if I were to tell you how 
he used to pass the time that he spent with these three 
girls. A city-bred boy of thirteen or fourteen would 
have been quite capable of arranging an elopement 
with the prettiest one, but brother's style of court- 
ship was quite unique ; he used to correct their gram- 
mar when they conversed, and gravely lecture them 
upon the folly of wearing stays ! 

" The corsets which so aroused his ire were quite 
different from those of the present day. At that time, 
you must know, the Empire dress, that you have seen 
in portraits of the time of the first Napoleon, was all 
the fashion ; no crinoline, skirts so extremely scant 
and gored that they clung to the figure like drapery 
upon a statue, and waists a finger and a half in depth, 
with inch-wide bands instead of sleeves. This style 
of dress was very graceful and becoming when worn 
by a woman of slender figure, rnd those who were 
not thus favored by Nature made the best of their 



152 Wearing '^ Boards ^ 

figures by wearing what was then called 'busks,' or 
more popularly * boards.' The corsets worn in those 
days did not clasp in front, but merely laced behind, 
and inserted in the lining of the front was the ' busk,' 
a piece of steel, or (among poorer people) wood two 
inches wide, and the depth of the corset. This busk, 
with the addition of very tightly drawn lacing-strings, 
was supposed to give great symmetry to the figure. 
No village belle ever liked to own that she laced 
tightly, or that she wore a board ; as it was a tacit 
admission that her figure could not bear unaided the 
test of the Empire dress ; consequently brother's re- 
marks would be received by his young friends with 
an injured air, and a vehement protest against such a 
false accusation. Brother would then test their truth 
by dropping his handkerchief and requesting them to 
pick it up ; if they ' wore a board,' stooping would be 
impossible, or, at all events, very diflBcult ; an ordeal 
that would cover them with confusion, when the 
philosopher of thirteen years old would resume his 
moral lecture upon the laws of hygiene, and the follies 
of fashion." 



CHAPTER XIY. 

The Morning- Mail — A Letter to Mrs. Cleveland — Strange 
Contents — Ida's Letter Bag — Appeals for Money, for 
Clothing, and for her Hand — An Original Letter from a 
Trapper. 

July 12. 
Going to the post-office for tlie morning mail is, I 
think, our greatest daily pleasure. For some reason, 
we seldom have many letters by our second mail, the 
6.30 P.M. train, but in the morning our box is always 
well filled, for we receive regularly the dear daily 
Tribune, six weekly journals, and the leading maga- 
zines, and as we all have quite a number of corre- 
spondents, we feel deeply aggrieved if our box is not 
filled to repletion at least once a day. 

Ida, of course, is blessed with the gi^eatest number 
of letters in the family, for besides those from her own 
and her father's friends, 

" The cry is, still they come ! " 

ill shoals from unknown people of high and low de- 
gree, sometimes containing merely poems, or expres- 
sions of sympathy and iuterest in the sad history of 
our beautiful cousin, but varied occasionally by some 
7* 



154 TJie Village Post-office. 

of the extraordinary appeals for help which I have 
already mentioned. 

This morning I went down to the office when the 
mail came in. There was the usual number of expec- 
tant faces — Miss Murray and Miss Cox in their 
carriages, and our more rural neighbors standing 
about the pigeon-hole; however, every one makes 
way for us in Chappaqua, and I approached nearer, 
and asked for our letters. A very rough-looking man 
standing near by, looked on with interest while the post- 
master handed out letter after letter, and finally said : 

" You belong to the family, do you not ? " 

" Yes," I said, for T always answer the rustic saluta- 
tions of the people about here, knowing them to have 
had a sort of feudal attachment to uncle. 

" I thought a great deal of the old gentleman," he 
said with a rude pathos in his voice that was very 
touching. " I used to see him very often, for I live 
in these parts, and he always used to say good-morn- 
ing so pleasant, and was never ashamed to shake my 
dirty, hard hand ! " 

This reminds me of a little incident that mamma 
related yesterday. She was standing upon the balcony 
when an old gentleman who was driving past, seeing 
mamma, stopped his horses, looked up and bowed, 
hesitated, and then said : 

" Excuse me, but is thee the sister of Horace Greeley 
that was ? " 



The Mornmg Mail. 155 

Mamma assented. 

" I thought so," he said, " I saw it in thy counte- 
nance." 

He then told mamma his name, and, after making 
a few remarks about uncle that showed thoroughly good 
feeling, drove on. 

It is not uncommon for those driving past to slacken 
their horses and gaze earnestly at the house, and, if any 
of us are upon the piazza or at the windows, they 
always bow — a mark of respect that is also shown us 
by all the farmers and working people about here. 

But I am forgetting Ida's letters. I brought her this 
morning as many as six or eight, some of which were 
put up in yellow-brown envelopes, and directed in very 
questionable chirography. In a few moments she 
knocked at mamma's door and said, 

" I have brought you a few letters from some of my 
extraordinary correspondents. Aunt Esther." 

" We will compare notes, my dear," said mamma, 
looking up from a rose-colored sheet embellished Avith 
decidedly scrawly writing. " I have just received one 
that is quite astounding." 

" From Tennessee," said. Ida, looking at the post- 
mark. " I know the writing ; that man has sent me 
as many as half a dozen letters, wishing to enter into 
correspondence. I suppose that finding me so unre- 
sponsive he thinks he will try another member of the 
family." 



156 A Letter to Mrs. Cleveland. 

" He comes to the point in a most emphatic man- 
ner this time," said mamma, " by asking me for your 
hand ; and as the letter is really a curiosity in a liter- 
ary point of view, I will read it to you." * 



" Mrs. John F. Cleveland : — I reckon I am one of 
the spoilt children of the South, similar to what Mr. 
Greeley says of South Carolina. I want to Marry 
Miss Ida, because she is the daughter of the most 
powerful Man that has yet appeared on the American 
Continent. Mr. Greeley turned four millions of slaves 
loose with the Pen can't I win his daughter with the 
same facile weapon ? Now Mrs. Cleveland won't you 
help me ? I am not a Humbug, I have too many 
bullet holes through my body to be classed with that 
tribe of insects. I begin to feel a little skittish about 
my age, 35 and not yet Married. Yet I have always 
been rather a fatalist and incline to Worship some 
star. The Greeks Worshiped the sun. And moon under 
the Name of Isis and Osiris, but I am more like the 
Arab look to the stars for something sublime and un- 
changing among all the bright lights that hang and 
move in the firmament. The North Star Appears to 
be the most important. The Axis on which our Earth 
daily turns. The point from which all Mariners cal- 

* I insert this and the subsequent letters precisely as they 
are written, merely withholding some of the signatures. 



Ida is the North Star. 157 

dilate their course in mid ocean, and safely guides 
Them from continent to continent. Without the North 
Star there would be no Magnetic Meridian by which 
Governments could be surveyed and divided equitably 
to its inhabitants and civilization would lose its strong 
hold in being based on Justice. If there is any South 
Star that plays such an important part on this conti- 
nent or Europe I have never heard of it. Miss Ida 
is the North Star made so by the fact her father was 
the great center around Which The whole country 
swung. And As she is the oldest the crown of great- 
ness ought to rest on her head. And if she will Marry 
Me I will do as hard fighting as Caesar did to put it 
there. With great respects yours Truly 



This letter would have excited more astonishment 
than it did, had it not been only a fair specimen of 
what Ida has been daily receiving since her father's 
death. She then read us one from Indiana, addressed 
to herself, and written, as the newspapers would say, 
with a view to matrimony, but couched in quite a 
business-like strain : 

** Miss Ida Greeley : 

'' May I not surprise you by the 
fact that I desire an acquaintance with you. I send 
you my photograph (which however is too light to be 



158 A Collegian in Distress. 

perfect), hoping yours in return. If answered, I in 
my next will give my age and history generally. 

" Yours truly *' ." 

Another was from a widow with a son at college, 
who was very badly in debt. The mother appealed to 
Ida as a lady of fortune and generosity, and the only 
person to whom they could look for aid, to pay the 
son's debts, " And," Ida added with mock indignation, 
" she does not even promise that I shall be ultimately 
rewarded with the young man's hand." 

A third was dated Illinois, and bore the sonorous 

signature of Greeley Barnum M . This epistle was 

extremely prolific, inasmuch as it gave the occupations, 
ages, and a personal description of not only the im- 
mediate members of the writer's family, but even ex- 
tended to cousins once or twice removed. He had 
also much to say about his name of Greeley ; some- 
times he was proud of it, and sometimes the reverse, 
according to the company he was in. Passing over 
all this prelude, we discovered that Greeley Barnum 

M 's object in writing was to request a complete 

outfit for his sister who was about to go to school. 
" You are a young Lady, Miss greeley," the writer 
touchingly said, " and know everything that my sister 
would be likely to want." The clothes, he kindly in- 
timated, could be put up in a box, and sent by express, 
prepaid; and having done so, Ida was requested to 



Letter from a Perfect Gentleman. 159 

notify his sister and also an uncle and aunt at some 
distant point, that they might not be distressed by 
thinking their niece was going to school without a 
suitable outfit. 

The next letter that Ida took up was from a Kansas 
man, more modest in his requests than the others, for 
he neither asked for her hand nor a loan, but being 
anxious for self-improvement, solicited a little assist- 
ance from her in that line. This letter was written 
in an even, flowing hand, with very few mis-spelt 
words. 

"Wichita, Kansas. 
" Miss Ida Greely : 

" Well, here is another fool, will no 
doubt be the first thought that will pass through your 
mind, and it is quite likely that you may in the main 
be correct. 

" I have a very high regard for all womankind. I 
have read so much about your sympathetic nature, I 
thought perhaps our sympathies might be mutual in 
some respects. 

" I am always desirous of improving, and have 
heretofore looked to much to persons no better quali- 
fied than myself to instruct or improve in correspond- 
ence of any kind. Knowing that you are educated 
and refined I apply to you as a perfect Gentleman for 
a small portion of your time say one half-hour in 
four weeks as a time set aside to answer any letter 



i6o A Modest Request. 

I might write, at same time corract misspell'd words 
etc. And do it unreservedly. I am formerly from the 
east : come west less than one year ago, have lost my 
wife, am thirty years old, and like you without friends. 
In return for your favor I can write you a description 
of tliis great Arkansas Yalley and county beyond, of 
the rapid growth of the country etc. which may in 
part rej)ay you for your trouble to please one lonely 
heart far from home. Will not give you any descrip- 
tion of Self or business unless I receive some answer 
but will say that I am of good family, in good busi- 
ness, and doing well. 

" "With respect 



" Here is another letter that at all events is short," 
said Ida, continuing to read : 

" Miss Greeley : 

"For some years past your father very 
kindly gave me assistance during three months of the 
year; if you can continue this, it will be a great 
charity, as I am very much in need of it. 
*' Yours respectfully 



(( 



Have you not yet exhausted your mail ? " in- 



quired Gabrielle 



A7Z Eccentric Letter. i6i 

** No," said Ida, " I have still two or three letters 
to read to Aunt Esther. Here is one in which you 
will be interested, Gabrielle. The writer calls you 
familiarly ' Ellie ' : I think he must have read that 
very accurate description of you that went the rounds 
of the papers last summer, in which you remember 
you are a shy and shrinking flaxen-haired fawn. He 
would be quite surprised, I think, if he could see what 
a majestic * Ellie ' you are." 

"Alleghany Co. Penn. 
" To lohom it may concern : 

'' Know ye that I have had a desire to know more 
about the Greeley girls for several months, and that 
the desire for acquaintance became so strong after 
meeting your father and sister a few nights since 
(while sleeping) that I concluded to write. 

" It seems to be Gabrielle's acquaintance I particu- 
larly desire, but she being young and inexperienced I 
address you as her natural guardian, allowing you to 
dispose of my communication as you think best. 

" Being what some folks call an eccentric individ- 
ual ; feeling lonely in the world, and believing, from 
what I know of the laws of Hereditary Descent and 
your parents that you and your sister must possess 
the noblest natures ; and believing that no harm but 
good — at least to me — can come from our acquaintance, 
I write to ask a correspondence. 



1 62 A Friend of Humajtity. 

" If you or ' EUie ' feel like sending a reply — well ; 
if not, there shall be no hard feelings, but it would be 
a satisfaction to me to know that my letter had been 
received. 

" Sincerely wishing you and all the world all happi- 
ness, I close. Accept my warmest sympathy in your 
bereavement, and believe me to be the friend of Hu- 
manity. 

" YiCTOR Melvin. 

" P.S. For reasons not necessary to mention, I 
write under an assumed name. Write, please." 

The next one was from Chicago, addressed to Miss 
ida greeley. The writer said : 

" I am about to pen you a few lines, hopeing you 
will not receive them in a contemptious manner, but 
rather in a business than a formal way. 

" Pleas to put the form of introduction and society 
regulations aside, and consider your future happiness, 
pleasure and welfare only. I am well aware that you 
are very much anoid and persecuted, thereby I 
mean persistant attentions from undesirable persons ; 
now my obgect at present is to aid you in a manner 
that you can soon and forever shut down on all dis- 
agreeable attentions. 

"now I would suggest some beautiful locality in 
California or orogon there to live a quiet retired life 
free from former acquaintances and continnad anoy- 



Letter from a Trapper. 1 63 

ances. now if you think you could accept my ser- 
vices, they are honorably tendered and would be 
kindly and heartily given. Pleas to inform me at 
the earliest conveniance. Pleas to not misinterpret 
my intentions. 

" yours in sincerity 
" pleas to 
" Address ." 

After listening to this extraordinary epistle, 
mamma said dryly : 

" I think, my dear, that that is the strangest letter 
you have yet received." 

" It is nothing, auntie," was the reply, *' to one I 
have in reserve, in which the writer not only has a 
request to make, but actually proposes making me a 
present ; it is not^ however, his hand, for a wonder ! " 

"Deeklodge, Montana. 
"To Miss Ida Greely: 

" Young lady I suppose you will be surprised at 

receiving a letter from the frontier, my motive for 

wi'iting is this. I am a mountaineer — that is a 

trapper a good many years ago I met with your 

father Horace Greely on the plains, and greatly 

admired the old gentleman. The way I came to make 

his acquaintance is this. A drunken, unruly Cuss 

seeing that your father appeared quiet and peaceable 

thought it safe to play the bully at his expence so he 



1 64 A Doubt fid Narrative. 

commenced to insult and threaten Mr. Greely in a 
pretty rough manner. Seeing that your father was 
quiet and peaceable and did not wish to quarrel with 
the Cuss I took the Cuss in hand, and spoiled his 
beauty for him, and taught him a lesson to mind his 
own business. Mr. Greely greatly overated the tri- 
fleing service I had done, he thanked me warmly, he 
became very friendly with me and gave me good ad- 
vice. Among other things he advised me to do was 
to get a breach loading rifle instead of my muzlle 
loading rifle. I laughed at the idea I supposed my 
old muzlle loader was the best. Since then I have 
found out that Mr. Greely was right and that I was 
rong. Mr. Greely at the time offered to purchase one 
and give it to me I refused to accept it. He then 
told me any time I changed my mind to let him know, 
and he would send me a good breech loading rifle. I 
have often thought about it since, but never wi-ote to 
him. My reasons for writing to you now are these ; 
I and my partner Beaver Bob started down the 
Yellow Stone last fall to trap near the Big Horn 
river. We were pretty successful and made the 
Beaver mink martin and other vermin suffer — but 
one day we were attaced by a hunting party of 15 or 
20 Ogallala Sioux. In the fight my old partner 
Beaver bob was wiped out I was wounded but man- 
aged to make my escape and after a pretty hard time 
reached the Mission on the head of the Yellow Stone 



Wanted, a Rifle. 165 

— I mean near the head. I lost my horses all my 
outfit in fact almost everything. When my ammuni- 
tion was expended — I mean used up — I threw my 
rifle away and took to the brush and ran for it — I 
mean the chance of life. Lately I have heard that 
Mr. Greely has handed in his chips — that is passed 
in his checks — I mean gone to limbo you know. I'm 
sorry for the old man but we must all go some time 
you know, and now miss what I want to know is 
mil you instead of your father send me a breech load- 
ing rifle. If you do I shall be much obliged to you 
and if you don't I hope there is no harm done. The 
kind of rifle I want is one of Sharps new improved 
shooting rifles with a barrell 36 inches in length and 
a barrell 16 pound weight Calibre 44. They are mad 
in Sharps factory Connetticot in a place called Hart- 
ford. If one was sent to me by Wells and Fargoes 
express to Deerlodge city Montana Territory, I should 
get it. The name or rather the nickname by which I 
am known among mountain men is Death Rifle. The 
redskins I mean the Indians gave me that name many 
years in Dacotah Territtory and it stuck to me ever 
since. My right name is Hugh De Lacey so when you 
wish to adress or direct any thing to me direct to 
Hugh De Lacey, Deerlodge City, Montana. Miss 
Greely a great many eastern men we remarked seem 
to think that we mountaineers are to blame for having 
trouble with the redskins I can assure you we never 



1 66 Indian Hair offered. 

bother the infernal vermin only when they bother us 
and that is pretty often for when they get a chance to 
go for our hair they take it no more at present I re- 
main 

" Yours respectfully 

" Hugh De Lacey. 
" N.B. I have heard you eastern ladies are in the 
habit of useing a deal of false hair in your toilets if 
you choose miss Greely I will send you a lot of Indi- 
ans hair any time you want it. I remain yours re- 
spectfully 

"Hugh De Lacey." 

"It reads like a chapter from one of Cooper's 
novels," said mamma, " and the romantic name ot 
Hugh De Lacey would be more appropriate to the 
handsome young descendant of some old Huguenot 
refugee family than such a rough trapper as your cor- 
respondent ' Death Eifle ; ' but the present he offers 
you is most singularly inappropriate ; no one who had 
ever seen your wealth of hair, my child, would think 
of presenting you with a chignon ; " and as she spoke 
she loosened and shook out Ida's heavy clusters of 
hair, which, released from their orderly Marguerite 
braids, swept over her black dress like a tawny 
mantle. 



CHAPTER XT. 

Life in the Woods of Pennsylvania — Journey from Vermont 
to Pennsylvania in 1826 — Travelling on Canal-boats — Inci- 
dents by the Way — Home in the Wilderness — Aggressions of 
Bears and Wolves. 

July 14 
*^ Aunt Esther, in all the stories of your early days 
that you have told us, you have not yet described your 
life in Pennsylvania," said Ida one evening, when we 
were gathered about the piano. " Do tell us about it. 
You have once or twice merely alluded to living in the 
woods, and my curiosity is quite excited. Were they 
veritable forests ? I do not remember hearing papa 
say much about them." 
Mamma smiled sadly. 

" \Vliat makes you think of Pennsylvania to-night, 
my child ? " she asked. 

" I do not know, auntie," was the reply, " unless 
perhaps it was hearing Cecilia sing ' My love is like 
the red, red rose.' You told me, I remember, that 
grandmamma used often to sing that pretty little 
Scotch ballad." 

" Yes, it was one of mother's favorite songs," said 
mamma. " I can remember perfectly the way she used 



1 68 An old Scotch Ballad. 

to Ring it. IS^ot in your English version, Cecilia, but 
with Burns' own Scotch words, and in her sweet, low 
voice, with a ring of passion that one rarely hears in a 
drawing-room at the present day. As Charles Reade 
says of one of his heroines, ' She sung the music for 
the sake of the words, not the words for the sake of 
the music — which is something very rare.' 

** I am not surprised that you have never heard your 
papa say much of our life in Pennsylvania, for you 
remember that he did not accompany us there, but 
only made us occasional visits. Before we left Ver- 
mont father had already apprenticed him, at his earnest 
desire, to the publishers of the North American Spec- 
tator, at Poultney, and brother Barnes (who is fifteen 
months his junior) then took his place in the house- 
hold. I think that your papa had been some time in 
the Spectator ofiice before our departure for the woods, 
in September." 

" Yes," said Marguerite, who always remembers 
dates ; "he was ap2:)renticed the April before you left, 
and came over to Westhaven to bid you all good-by. 
I remember what he says of the parting in his ' Recol- 
lections : ' * 

" ' It was a sad parting. We had seen hard times 
together, and were very fondly attached to each other. 
I was urged by some of my kindred to give up Poult- 



A Hard Parting. 169 

ney (where there were some things in the office not 
exactly to my mind), and accompany them to their new 
home, whence, they urged, I could easily find in its 
vicinity another and better chance to learn my chosen 
trade. I was strongly tempted to comply, but it would 
have been bad faith to do so ; and I turned my face 
once more towards Poultney, with dry eyes but a 
heavy heart. A word from my mother, at the critical 
moment, might have overcome my resolution. But 
she did not speak it, and I went my way, leaving the 
family soon to travel much farther and in an opposite 
direction. After the parting was over, and I well on 
my way, I was strongly tempted to return ; and my 
walk back to Poultney (twelve miles) was one of the 
slowest and saddest of my life.' 

'* Do commence at the beginning, mamma," Mar- 
guerite continued, " and tell us all about the journey 
to Pennsylvania, and how your new home looked when 
you arrived. How large was the family then ? Aunt 
Mavgaret was born in Vermont, was she not ? " 

" Yes, and a very pretty little creature she was," 
said mamma, with a sister's pride in the youngest of 
the family. *' She was extremely small for her age — 
indeed, she weighed only three pounds and a half at 
her birth, and I recollect hearing some one say that 
the nurse put her into the family coffee-pot and shut 
down the lid." 

" The coffee-pot ! " we all exclaimed, in chorus. 
8 



I/O Departure from Vermont. 

" Pray how large was it ? Somewhat over the ordi- 
nary size, I trust." 

Mamma laughed. '' Yes, it was larger than coffee- 
pots of the present day," she said; "an old-fashioned 
tin coffee-pot, broad at the bottom aiid gradually nar- 
rowing towards the top. But still it was extraordinary 
that a baby could be put in it, and the lid shut down." 

" What induced grandpapa to select Pennsylvania 
for a residence, Aunt Esther ? " inquired Ida. " Was 
land cheaper there thin elsewhere ? " 

** You have answered your question yourself, dear," 
was mamma's reply. " Land was very cheap there, 
and through our careful economy in Vermont, father 
had saved enough money to buy about two hundred 
acres, to which he subsequently added, from time to 
time, so that the old Greeley homestead now consists 
of between three and four hundred acres. Then two 
of father's brothers. Uncle Benjamin and Uncle Leon- 
ard, had settled in Wayne township three or four years 
previous, and, to use your papa's words, had * made 
holes in the tall, dense forest that covered nearly 
all that region for twenty to fifty miles in every direc- 
tion.' Father went to Pennsylvania in advance of 
us, bought his land, and then returned to fetch us to 
our new home. 

" I remember seeing mother weep bitterly when she 
left Vermont ; but, as ever through her brave life, she 
made no complaint. As for myself, I remember no 



The First Day s Journey. 171 

regrets, save at parting with dear brother ; for I was 
too voung to feel other than chiklish exultation at the 
prospect of making a long journey ; and that journey 
from Vermont to our new home upon the * State 
line,' between New York and Pennsylvania, I must 
here remark, occupied a month. Locomotion, you see, 
was not so rapid in the year 1826 as it is now." 

" I should think not ! " exclaimed Gabrielle. 
" Pray, auntie, in what way did you travel to ad- 
vance at such a snail's pace ? I should think you 
could almost have walked the distance in that length 
of time." 

" You will be amused when I tell j^ou the length of 
the first day's journey," replied mamma. "Father 
hired a large wagon, and stowed away our trunks, fur- 
niture, and all of his family in it, and we went as far 
as Whitehall, a distance of about nine miles. Here 
we stopped over night, and the next day took the boat 
for Troy, where we again broke the journey after 
travelling, I believe, two days. At that time there 
were no regular ferry-boats to cross the river from 
East to West Troy, and passengers were taken over 
in row-boats. I remember that the boatmen stood by 
the river-side and called all day and night : 

"*Over, over, over, going o-o-o-o-ver ! ' to attract 
custom. 

" Now came the most delightful part of the journey 
— going from Troy to Buffalo upon the canal-boat. 



172 A Precocious Scholar. 

There were two different kinds of boats that went 
between those cities; the packet-boats, carrying the 
mails and passengers but no freight, and the line-boats, 
which took both freight and passengers, and were con- 
sequently cheaper. These were used by people like 
ourselves, who were moving from one part of the 
country to the other, with furniture, who wished to 
economize, and to whom time was no object; for the 
packet-boats travelled twice or thrice as rapidly as 
the line-boats. 

" I think I never enjoyed myself so thoroughly 
when a child, as at that time. My sisters and I were 
much petted by the captain and the passengers ; and 
the excitement of being on the water, and the constant 
change of scene, kept up our spirits to the highest 
pitch. Margaret, who was then four years old, was, 
I remember, an especial favorite on the boat ; for she 
was extremely pretty, with her fragile, doll-like figure, 
her clear complexion, bright blue eyes, and reddish 
gold curls. She inherited the family talent for spell- 
ing, and was very fond of displaying her accomplish- 
ments in that line ; for sister Margaret was a very 
self-possessed little creature, and was afraid of no 
one — not even of father himself. I recollect that 
when the boat stopped at any small town to take on 
passengers, Margaret's bright eyes would if possible 
discover a shop with the sign ' Grocery ; ' and then, 
going up to some one of her new friends, would gravely 



Incidents by the Way. • 173 

spell * G-r-o, gro, c-e, ce, groce, r-y, ry, grocery ; ' 
followed usually by an intimation that a reward of 
merit would be acceptable. She was so extremely 
small for her age, that her achievement of spelling a 
three-syllable word was looked upon as something 
marvellous by the passengers, and some one would im- 
mediately take her ashore, and buy her some candy or 
fruit from the grocery. 

" Another incident that impressed itself strongly 
uj^on me during this journey, was eating a peach for 
the first time. I had never seen a peach in either 
New Hampshire or Vermont. 

" But, during those long September days that we 
children spent running over the boat, and indulging 
in all sorts of wild mischief, i)oor mother had by no 
means an easy life. It was impossible for her to keep 
ITS together and under her eyes ; and what with the 
fear that we might fall overboard, or meet with some 
accident from the bridges, I know that she only looked 
forward to the time when the journey should be over, 
and we safe on land again." 

" The bridges, mamma ! " said Marguerite, " to 
what danger were you exposed from them ? " 

*' The bridges crossing the canal," explained mamma, 
"were so extremely low, that no one upon the boat 
could stand upright ; often the boat could barely glide 
under them without grazing the rails of the deck. 
The captain used to keep on the lookout, and as we 



174 A Terrible Accident. 

approached one, would call, * Bridge ahead.' Then 
the women and children would rush down the stair- 
case to the little cabin, and the gentlemen would 
usually throw themselves at full length upon the deck 
until the bridge was passed. That was always a mo- 
ment of terrible anxiety for poor mother if we were 
out of sidit ; for accidents and even loss of life had 
been known to occur; indeed, on father's previous 
journey, he witnessed an accident of a most terrible 
character. A woman, who was going only a short 
distance in the boat, was very much afraid that she 
would be taken past the town where she wished to 
stop, and paid no attention to the warning to go below 
as they approached a bridge. The captain, seeing the 
danger she was in, seized her by the arm, and thrust 
her downstairs. She rushed up, and he again pulled 
her down. Coiifident that she was about to be taken 
past her destination, the poor woman for the third 
time broke away from him, and reached the deck 
just in time to be struck by the bridge and instantly 
killed." 

" Frightful ! " said Marguerite with a shudder. 
"Tell us about the rest of your journey, mamma. 
How did you travel after you left Bufialo? Upon 
Lake Erie, T suppose ? " 

" No, indeed ! " replied mamma, '' although there 
were at that time steamboats upon the lake ; but 
father had had so terrible an experience upon his pre- 



Entering the Wilderness. 175 

vious journey, that be would not subject bis family to 
the caprices of Lake Erie. He bad staii;ed from Buf- 
falo upon a schooner, but a dreadful storm arose, in 
which the boat struggled for three days and was then 
obliged to put back to Buffalo a complete wreck. 
Father declared at that time that he would never ex- 
pose his family to the hair-breadth escape from death 
that he had undergone ; consequently, he hired a 
strong wagon at Buffalo, and we travelled along what 
was called the * Lake Shore Road ' to the town of 
North East, whence we took a southern course to 
Wattsburgh. 

" When at Wattsburgh, we were only eight miles 
distant from our destination, but as we were now to 
leave the main road and plunge into the deep forest, 
father exchanged his horses and wagon for a heavy 
wooden sled and a yoke of oxen. Then we com- 
menced to realize what our new life was to be. There 
was no road through the woods, and the only indica- 
tion of the route was blazed or marked trees. Huge 
logs, so high that the oxen could barely step over them, 
lay occasionally across our path, and from time to 
time we had to stop while father and brother Barnes 
hewed down the trees that obstructed the way. We 
children thought this pioneer episode even preferable 
to our experience upon the boat, but I remember that 
dear mother sighed often and deeply. 

" At the close of the second day, the eight miles 



176 Settling in the Woods. 

were accomplished, and we reached father's property. 
He had bought with the land a rough little log- 
house, or rather hut, as it had but one room, and in 
this we were to live until he could build a better one. 
At the sight of her dreary home, mother's heart fairly 
sunk, and I shall never forget her tears." 

Mamma paused for a moment ; then steadying her 
voice, said: 

" I am prouder than ever of my mother when I 
think how nobly she bore the separation from her 
darling son, and her exile from her family, and, you 
may almost say, from civilization. She could not, at 
first, it is true, restrain her tears, but from that mo- 
ment never a murmur of complaint crossed her brave 
lips, and we children never dreamed, till years later, 
how keenly she felt the sacrifice that she had been 
compelled to make." 

" But were you really so far out of the world, 
Aunt Esther?" inquired Ida. "Did you have no 
neighbors at all? We had two uncles there, I 
thought. Surely they must have been some society 
for grandmamma ? " 

" I do not believe," mamma replied, " that any 
other spot upon the globe, not even Robinson Crusoe's 
island, could now seem so desolate and shut ofi" from 
all communication as our home in the woods did then. 
You must remember that there were no railways in 
1826, which fact made us still more remote from the 



An Isoldtted Life. 177 

rest of the world. Now, with the railways spreading 
in every direction over our vast Republic, you can 
scarcely imagine what it was to live with an almost 
impenetrable forest between yourself and your nearest 
neighbor. Uncle Benjamin occupied what was called 
the * next lot,' and had the ground been cleared, the 
distance from us would still have been three-quarters 
of a mile ; but when the distance was increased three- 
fold by the darkness of the forest, and there was in 
addition every probability of meeting a bear or two on 
the way, you can imagine that being neighborly was 
scarcely practicable." 

" Bears ! " exclaimed Gabrielle, her eyes sparkling 
with excitement ; " how lovely ! Darling auntie, do 
tell us more about them. It must have been like one 
of Captain Mayne Reid's stories, to live in that 
delightful Pennsylvania ! " 

" Our life there," said mamma, '' certainly equalled 
the wildest tales of adventures experienced by early 
settlers that I have ever read, and we children found 
it quite as ' lovely ' as you imagine it to have been. 
We never felt isolated, although our entire ' clearing ' 
consisted of only four acres, upon which our house 
stood, and any further prospect was shut out by the 
woods. To us it was delightful to realize the advent- 
ures of Robinson Crusoe, which, as I told you, 
brother had read to us in Vermont, merely changing 
tropical animals and scenery for that of the North. 
8* 



178 Encroachments, 

I do not remember ever being afraid, but the wolves, 
who nightly howled in gangs about our slightly built 
house, the bears who ate up the corn in our little 
patch, the porcupines who gnawed the hoops off our 
pork barrels, and the frightful, screaming owls, 
struck terror to poor mother's heart. 

'^ I recollect that one night father went out to drive 
away a porcupine whose teeth and claws he heard 
busily at work upon a barrel hoop, but the creature 
rushed into the house through the open door, and ran 
across the trundle bed where sister Arminda and I 
slept. I need not tell you how dangerous it would 
have been had one of his quills penetrated our flesh." 

" Do go on, auntie ; this is delightful," said Gabrielle. 

" When father had paid for his land," said mamma, 
"and bought a yoke of oxen and a cow — two essen- 
tial things for a farmer — he had very little, if any, 
money left. There was no danger, however, that we 
should suffer from want, for the woods were so full of 
game that father would take his gun in the morning 
and go out to shoot something for dinner with the 
same confidence that he would have gone to a market 
to buy it. Partridges and j)igeons in the greatest 
abundance formed our daily fare, while the deer used 
to walk into our corn-patch and almost offer them- 
selves as targets for father's or brother Barnes' gun. 
Venison, I recollect, was so plentiful that a farmer, 
after shooting a deer, would only trouble himself to 



Daily Fare. 179 

fetcli home the hind-quarters and hide — the latter being- 
marketable. In the spring there were cowslips and 
other wood plants in abundance, which made a deli- 
cious substitute for spinach. Tea was very scarce with 
us, and was kept for Sundays ; but beech nuts, burnt 
and ground, made a very palatable coffee, that formed 
our daily beverage. Butter must have been an un- 
marketable article, for I remember that during the 
first three years we spent there, it sold for six cents a 
pound." 

" Did you grow anything on the farm to sell, 
mamma ? " I inquired. " I suppose not, during tlie 
first years." 

"No," said mamma; " and if we had, there would 
have been no market for it." 

" Then what did you do for money. Aunt Esther? " 
said Ida. " Grandpapa had very little, you say." 

" I must not forget," said mamma, " that we had 
one marketable production, and one that you would 
not easily guess. 

" I wonder, Gabrielle, if your favorite chemistry 
goes back so far into elementary principles, as to tell 
you from what black salts are made ? School-books 
seldom, I think, trouble themselves "svith the origin of 
things, so I will tell you that after the great logs were 
burnt that father had felled in clearing, the ashes were 
collected and leeched, and the lye boiled down in 
immense cauldrons till it became granulated like 



i8o Black Salts. 

sugar. It then formed what was called ' black salts,' 
and these salts are the basis of potash, soda, etc. 
The salts could always find a ready market, and with 
them we paid our taxes, and bought what necessaries 
we could not raise ourselves." 



CHAPTER XYI. 

A Birtliday — A Surprise — The Day celebrated by a Dinner — 
An Awkward Mistake — A Queen of Fashion — A Drive to 
Tarrytown — A Poem to Ida. 

July 16. 

Ax air of mystery lias pervaded the house for the 
past week. My offers to take Ida's letters to the 
post, or to go and fetch home the mail, have been 
met with a hasty negative, and Minna despatched 
forthwith to attend to them ; and whenever I might 
enter Ida's room, it would appear to be at a most 
inopportune moment, for the earnest conversation 
that had been going on between herself and Gabrielle 
would instantly stop, and their countenances assume 
a most transparent expression of indifference. Long 
whispered conversations with mamma were continually 
taking place, and Ida seemed to be more frequently 
called to the kitchen by Lina than I had ever before 
known her to be, that autocrat being ordinarily by no 
means tolerant of her presence there. Finally, Ida 
was summoned to New York upon important business 
— to meet her lawyer, I supposed, but wondered why 
she did not simply authorize papa to represent herself, 



1 82 A Birthday. 

as well as Grabrielle, whose guardian he is, and thus 
spare herself a tedious day in the city in such sultry 
weather. 

Yesterday was my birthday, and to-day is Marguer- 
ite's. As the fetes occur in midsummer, we are usu- 
ally — if in America — upon the Catskill Mauntains, or 
some equally inaccessible place, so that a celebration is 
not practicable ; indeed, our birthdays have not baen 
celebrated since 18G9, when some friends in Paris took 
us all to St. Germain, where we passed a most delight- 
ful week at the Pavilion Henri Quatra (a hotel built 
upon the spot where L:>uis XIV. was born), and daily 
drove and picniced in the grand old forest for which 
St. Germain is noted. The events of yesterday were 
therefore most unexpected and agreeable. 

Ida and Gabrielle, after congratulating Marguerite and 
I, and giving us some elegant presents (for we usually 
receive our presents upon the same day, as less than 
twenty-four hours separate our anniversaries), asked us 
to drive down to the station with them to meet the 
train, and gently intimated that as some one might come 
up from New York with papa, we had better put on 
our best bombazines. Quite obediently I went iip- 
stairs, put on the dress with its weight of crape, 
clasped on my new black velvet ceinture, with its 
buckles of oxidized silver in delicate filagree work, 
(Marguarite's gift), and obtuse to the inappropriate- 
ness of a dress fan for morning use, suspended from 



A Surprise Party. 183 

the chatelaine another birthday gift — a bhick lace fan. 
Then, when I had put the finishing touch, in the shape 
of dear Ida's present — a vinaigrette of oxidized silver 
formed like a half-furled fan — I was quite satisfied 
with my toilette ; before the day was over, however, 
my ceinture was adorned with a tortoise-shell chate- 
laine, whistle, and tablets, as well as a dainty riding- 
whip — -papa's prespsnt — and I deeply mourned the 
impossibility of wearing two beautiful pictures, a new 
novel, and a large box of lauch's b^st bonbons. 

When the train arrived, papa emerged, followed by 
our artist neighbor, Mr. John Hows. 

" Why, papa has brought up Mr. Hows ! " I said. 
" How very — " my exclamation of pleasure was 
checked by surprise at the appearance of his brother, 
the musical editor of the Express, followed by our 
friends. Dr. Taylor and Colonel Rogers. 

*' Is this a surprise party ? " Marguerite and I in- 
quired blankly. 

My dear friend Lela Paraf then tripped out, as- 
sisted by her elegant husband, and followed by Mr. 
Eugene Durkee and his brother, two Paris friends of 
ours. Then the car door opened once more, and 
" our young chief," as papa calls Mr. Keid, and Col- 
onel Hay issued — a surprise party indeed. 

Ida had intended to invite only a few young gentle- 
men to spend the day with us, fearing that if she sent 
out invitations to ladies to dinner, some enterprising 



1 84 A Blunder, 

reporter might announce that she had given at least a 
fete champetre^ \{ not a hal masque^ which in our 
deep mourning would not be an agreeable report to 
be in circulation ; but Lela is so charming and dear 
to us all, and has remained so faithfully my most in- 
timate friend for the last six months, notwithstanding 
the rival that I dreaded in her husband, that Ida 
made an exception for her. 

As we were marshalling our regiment to return to 
the house, a tall, dark, distinguished -looking gentle- 
man, elegantly dressed, hastened towards us. Who 
he was I coul,d not imagine, but as his face seemed 
familiar, I welcomed him with a beaming smile. He 
must, however, be very near-sighted, I thought, for he 
overlooked my extended hand, merely bowing very 
low, and going on towards the house. 

" Who is he, Ida ? " I said in a whisper ; " I don't 
remember his name." 

"I suppose not," said Ida, laughing; "though 
you have seen him often enough. It is Emile, from 
Delmonico's. I sent for him to help Minna serve the 
table." 

I was no longer surprised that my distinguished- 
looking gentleman did not shake hands with me. 

When we were upon the croquet ground, I had an 
opportunity to admire Lela's toilette. A born Queen 
of Fashion, her dresses even when as a school-girl 
were my admiration, and her toilette for my birthday 



A Que til of Fashion. 185 

showed the refinement of delicacy and taste : for, not 
wishing to be the only lady present in colors, she 
wore a black grenadine, with black bows and a black 
lace hat ; her diamond ear-dro[)S and one half-blown 
deep red rose alone testifying that her mourning robe 
was only worn through sympathy. 

We had sat three hours at the table, and were lin- 
gering over the ices and awaiting the coffee and fruit, 
when a shrill whistle, warning the guests that the 
train was nigh, caused a flight more rapid than that of 
Cinderella. Farewells were left unspoken, and " French 
leave " taken in good earnest, as our friends made a 
short cut through the garden of Bischoff, the train- 
master, who lives opposite us. Their departure could 
scarcely be said to be graceful, but as they had only 
three minutes' time to meet the train, it was obligatory. 

Lina had exercised all of her art in preparing the 
birthday dinner, and as Ida gave her carte blanche in 
her most extravagant demands — such as twenty , 
pounds of beef for gravies, and an entire bottle of 
Madeira for the soup, the dinner was very elegant and 
satisfactory. Lina would, I fancy, have been much 
aggrieved, had she known that her artistic dishes 
v/ere supposed to have been sent up from Delmonico's. 

July 20. 
A drive to Tarrytown to-day. After two months 
of inland air, the change to the exhilarating salt 



1 86 The Isle of Wight. 

breeze blowing up from the Hudson was very refresh- 
ing, and made us quite regret, during the few hours 
we spent there, that Chappaqua could not be occa- 
sionally transported to the seaside. 

" I am especially fond," said Ida, " of living by the 
sea, although I do not enjoy an ocean voyage ; but a 
cottage at Newport is my ideal home for the summer." 

" Newport air," said mamma, " would, I think, be 
too strong for me. The most agreeable sea air that I 
ever experienced was u^on the Isle of Wight. There 
the climate was so mild as to be very beneficial to me. 
But you must know as much or more than I do about 
the Isle of Wight air, for you spent several months 
there with your mother when last in Europe, did you 
not?" 

" Yes, we spent a winter and spring at Yentnor," 
said Ida; " that town, you know, is especially recom- 
mended to people with lung troubles, although I could 
never see that it did poor mamma much good." 

" Did you ever see, Aunt Esther," inquired Ga- 
brielle, '' the poem that was addressed to Ida while 
she was at Yentnor ? " 

Mamma had not before heard of it ; therefore, upon 
our return, Ida took it out of her portfolio, and 
showed it to us. It was written by a New York 
editor and poet, and was, we all thought, very beauti- 
ful and appropriate. As it was in MSS., Ida allowed 
me to copy it into my journal. 



A Poem to Ida. 187 



A FAMILIAR IDYL. 

FOR IDA LILLIAN GREELEY. 

Dear friend ! If I could step to-day 
Upon your cosey English isle, 
Victoria's chosen home erewhile, 

And hallowed by the Laureate's lay ; 

Though beauty breaks from every view, 
And one long splendor edge the shore, 
I should not pause an hour before 

I touched the terrace graced by you. 

For what's a Queen's or Poet's worth ? 
The light that lies on land and sea 
Resplendent ? Dearer far to me 

The friendship which outweighs the earth. 

Should I not find you — happy chance — 
Just where your ivied cottage stands, 
Dreaming with hope of western lands, 

Or facing torn and tortured France ? 

And you could tell of sunny days ? 

Of chalky cliffs and spreading downs ; 

Nature is more than bustUng towns, 
And country life than city ways. 

But hearing now a robin sing, 
I wonder if his English mate 
May not be hopping near your gate, 

A harbinger, with ours, of Spring. 



1 88 Home is Home. 

I know the precious charge you hold ; 
But now, when comes the budding yeax, 
I wish the rather you were here 

To see our leafy months imfold. 

To watch the coming choir of birds, 
And note the lengthening twilight hours, 
The miracles of buds and flowers, 

And tender shows too sweet for words. 

But you who hear the throstle sing, 
And greet the lark's high ecstasies, 
May learn to care no more for these, 

And spurn each weaker voice and wing. 

I will not think it — home is home j 
And much as other skies may do, 
Ours will not reach its sweetest blue, 
Nor May seem perfect, till you come. 
Ma/rch 1, 1871. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

Gabrielle and her Embroidery — Life in Pennsylvania con- 
tinued — Sugar-making — Horrible Incident — A Woman de- 
voured by Wolves — A Domestic Picture — Evening Read- 
ings — The Library of Mr. Greeley's Father — Mr. Greeley's 
Mother intellectually considered — Her Education — Mr. 
Greeley's Eldest Sister — She teaches School at the Age 
of Twelve. 

July 25. 

" It is some time, auntie," said Gal^rielle, from the 
sofa, " since you have told us any stories. Now I 
wish that this evening, while I am working upon my 
pin-cushion, you would relate some more episodes of 
your Pennsylvania life ; " and she opened her work 
box, and took out a little roll of canvas, upon which 
she was busy delineating in pale yellow wool a stiff 
little canary, with a surprising eye, and an impossible 
tail. 

" I have forgotten what I have already related, 
dear," replied mamma ; *' you must tell me where to 
take up my story." 

*" You left off at the manufacture of black salts," 
said Gabrielle, " and I want you to commence at that 
very point, and not forget anything that occurred." 



190 Sugar Making. 

" Perhaps you would like to liear about sugar 
making," said mamma ; *' that was one of father's 
yearly enterprises, and great sport we young people 
thought it." 

" Oh, do tell us about it," said Gabrielle, with 
sparkling eyes; "that will be delightful; almost as 
good as meeting a bear." 

*' Although not so exciting, I fear," said mamma, 
laughing ; " I am sorry that T have no encounters 
with bears to meet your demands for thrilling advent- 
ures to-night ; but if, as I suppose, you have never 
seen the process of sugar making, you will find an 
account of it quite interesting." 

" Father had upon his extensive acres hundreds of 
grand old forest maples, which, growing as they did, 
in patches in the wilderness, formed what were called 
in country parlance ' sugar bushes,' or, in the more 
elegant language of books, ' sugar orchards.' Early 
in the spring, when the sun stood high, and the snow 
began to melt, the maples would be * tapped,' as the 
farmers say ; sometimes by boring into them, and 
often by driving in a chisel ; then a wooden spout 
would be inserted through which the sweet sap would 
begin to trickle down into the troughs placed there to 
receive it. From these troughs it was collected and 
carried in buckets and pails to an immense receptacle 
hollowed out of the trunk of some great tree ; usually 
selecting what was called the ' cucumber tree,' as its 



Sugar mg off. 191 

soft wood could be more easily excavated than that of 
other trees. The men used to wear a yoke upon their 
shoulders with hooks from which the pails were sus- 
pended ; and thus equipped they would traverse to 
and fro with the sap. I well remember lending my 
assistance to father by trudging valiantly through 
snow that reached my knees, to carry buckets of sap, 
but without the assistance of a yoke. 

" The process of making sugar is very like that I 
described in the manufacture of black salts. The sap 
is poured into immense cauldrons, and boils some- 
times for sev^eral days. As fast as it evaporates, fresh 
sap is poured in until the syrup becomes thick, and 
then follows granulation, or, as the farmers call it, 
* sugaring off.' These periods of sugaring off, which 
occurred usually once or twice a week during the 
sugar season, were participated in by the neighbors 
from far and near, who would come to eat sugar and 
make merry. 

" I forgot, however, to tell you that while the sap 
was boiling, some one had to spend the night in the 
woods to refill the cauldron, and to keep up the fire. 
In our family this duty fell to brother Barnes, who 
took much delight in it. - With some boy friend he 
would camp out upon a bundle of straw before the 
fire, and with a nice supper, and songs and stories, 
diversified by rising every half hour to stir up the fire, 
and watch the cauldron, and to have a private sugar- 



192 Wolves and Bears. 

ing off for their own benefit, the boys would pass away 
the night. 

" But were they in no danger from wild animals, 
mamma ? " inquired Marguerite. 

" Not much," replied mamma ; " the boys always 
took their guns with them, but although the deer 
w^ould rustle over the leaves, and bears and wolves 
would creep softly up to the little encampment, the 
fire was usually sufiicient protection, and the wolves 
would content themselves with howling, and with a 
dissatisfied grunt the bears would move slowly away. 

" Often the boys would see through the darkness a 
pair of fiery eyes glaring at them, and seizing their 
rifles they would shoot ; but if they missed aim, the 
bears or wolves would have been sufficiently alarmed 
by the noise to make their escape whilst they could. 
Boys accustomed to a pioneer's life feared nothing; 
such adventures were as great sport to them in the 
woods, as they are to you, Gabrielle, while listening 
to them safely housed," 

" But in novels, and books of travel in new coun- 
tries, auntie," said Gabrielle with a dissatisfied shake 
of her pretty head, *'when you fire at a bear or other 
wild animal and do not kill him, he instantly turns 
and kills you. Were the bears and wolves of Penn- 
sylvania less ferocious than those of other countries ? " 

" They did not often seem bloodthirsty," replied 
mamma, *' for the reason, I suppose, that the woods 



A TJirillijtg Incident. 193 

were full of smaller animals on which tliey could prey, 
and consequently they did not need to attack human 
beings for sustenance. I remember, however, one in- 
cident that may perhaps satisfy your desire for more 
thrilling adventures. 

" An old woman living near what was called * the 
Carter settlement,' some six miles from us, started to 
pay a visit to a friend in the next 'clearing.' To 
reach her destination she had to pass through the 
densest part of the forest, with no indication of a path 
to guide her : but she never thought of danger as she 
started upon her long, lonely walk. 

" Several days elapsed before it was fairly realized 
that the old lady was missing ; and then the neighbors 
started en masse through the forest with tin pans, tin 
hoi*ns, and stalwart lungs, to look for her. Their 
shouts met with no response, but after a long search 
they met a pack of wolves who fled rapidly past them. 
Fairly alarmed now lest the old woman should have 
perished from fatigue and exj^osure, they pursued the 
search with desperate haste, and not far from the spot 
where they had met the wolves, found some scraps of 
a dress that was recognized as her's, a few bones, and 
her feet, which, encased as they were in stout boots, 
the wolves had disdained to devour. Whether the 
old woman had fallen a live victim to the wolves, or 
had died of hunger and fatigue and then furnished a 
repast to them, we never knew ; this latter supposi- 
9 



194 -^ Domestic Picture. 

tion, however, seemed hardly probable, for she could 
have found in the woods wild berries, succulent roots, 
and water suflB.cient to subsist upon for several days." 

A shiver of horror went around our little circle, 
and even Gabrielle's love for the terrible was satisfied. 

After a short pause, Marguerite said : 

" You must often have felt lonely, mamma, did you 
not, living so far away from all places of amusement, 
lectures, and the like ? Indeed, I suppose that buried 
as you were in the woods, you did not even have the 
excitement of going to church." 

" No," said mamma ; " we were dependent for en- 
tertainment entirely upon our own resources and the 
few books we had brought with us from Vermont ; 
but we children were never conscious of a lonely 
hour, and if dear mother felt sad and weary of our 
uneventful life, we never knew it. 

" We worked hard all day, every one of us, even 
little Margaret having something to do ; but in the 
evening we had a change of occupation. At twilight, 
when father and brother Barnes had come home, and 
our early supper was over, father would say : 

" ^ Mary, what have you to read to us to-night? ' 

*' Immediately fresh logs would be piled up in the 
great open fireplace, the candles lighted, we girls 
would draw up to the table with our knitting or 
sewing, Barnes would throw himself down before the 
fire, and mother would take up a book for the even- 



Evening Readings. 195 

ing's reading. This reading was as much a part of 
the routine of the day as dinner or supper, and was 
indeed our only means of culture that winter, distant 
as we were from schools and all other educational ad- 
vantages. Mother always monopolized the position of 
reader; indeed, until after her death, father seldom 
read a book, but contented himself with being a 
listener." 

" And was he a good listener, mamma ? " I in- 
quired, "or did he stop grandmamma from time to 
time to comment upon the author and the events ? " 

" Father's intentions were the best in the world," 
replied mamma smiling, " but you must remember 
that he would sit down to listen, completely exhausted 
from a day's work that had commenced with the first 
tinge of dawn, and before very long, soothed by 
mother's musical voice, his breathing would become 
more and more audible, and his head commence to 
nod. Quite patiently mother would continue her 
chapter, feigning not to be conscious of the heavy 
breathing that proceeded from the arm-chair, and 
often from the boyish figure stretched before the fire, 
until their slumber would become too apparent, when, 
closing the book, she would call them severely to task 
for their inattention. 

" Rubbing his eyes, father would rouse up, and 
indignantly refuting the accusation, declare that he 
had heard every word. 



196 Drowsy Listeners. 

" Instantly putting him to the test, mother would 
inquire what she had been reading about ? 

" After a moment of deep reflection, father would 
say penitently : 

*' ' Well, Mary, if you will just read back a page or 
two, I will remember all about it.' 

" Very indulgently mother would turn back, but 
often before she had reached the former stopping-place, 
father's breathing would announce that he was again 
resting from the hard day's toil. 

" Barnes was somewhat better as a listener, but he, 
like father, worked hard, and it was often difficult for 
him to keep awake during the reading of history or 
novels ; but we three girls were a most interested 
audience, and somewhat compensated for masculine 
inattention. 

" But father was not always drowsy ; at times he 
would listen with keen interest to the evening reading, 
and very much vexed he would be if the arrival of 
any neighbor should put a stojD to it. 

" ' My wife is reading something extremely inter- 
esting to us,' he would artfully say ; ^ perhaps you 
would like to listen to it also ? ' 

" * By all means,' the unsuspecting visitor would 
reply, and not another opportunity would he have to 
speak until it was time to take leave." 

*' What books did grandmamma read to you ? " 



Library of Mr. Greeley's Father. 197 

inquired Marguerite. " You have mentioned both 
history and novels, but without giving any names." 

" Your uncle," replied mamma, " supplied us with 
light literature from the resources of the Spectator 
office — newspapers, pamphlets, periodicals, etc., and 
mother's own little library was sterling in its quality 
as her own old-fashioned ballads ; it was quite varied, 
too, considering how few volumes it contained. 

" One of the books that I remember was Butler's 
^ History of the United States ; ' a ponderous tome 
that I presume you children have never seen. 

" Another volume from which we derived much 
information and pleasure was a large ' Universal 
History ; ' the name of its author I have forgotten. 

" The ' History of the Jews,' by Josephus, was also 
a great favorite with mother ; this work did not, how- 
ever, belong to us, but was lent us by your other 
grandfather. Marguerite. Mr. Cleveland, a neighbor 
of ours, you know, had, like us, a small library of 
standard books, which he was always glad to lend to 
an appreciative reader. 

" The * Wonders of Nature and Providence ' was 
another book that I remember well, and a * Life of 
Napoleon,' by what author I do not know, but which 
was a source of endless delight both to father and 
mother. The emperor, you know, had been dead only 
since 1821, consequently his exploits were fresh in 
every one's memory, and some of mother's most stir- 



198 Novels and Poetry. 

ring songs were about ' General Bonaparte.' You 
four children come legitimately by your devotion to 
Napoleon, for both father and mother were enthusias- 
tic in their admiration for the great French hero. 

"Among our smaller books was a life of Prince 
Eugene of Savoy, and the memoirs of Baron Trenck, 
whose romantic history we enjoyed as much as the 
most thrilling novel. 

" As for novels, we had not many at that time, al- 
though the newspapers with which brother furnished 
us usually contained serial stories that mother used to 
read aloud. I remember, however, that mother 
owned ' Waverley,' ' Bob Boy,' and ' Francis Ber- 
rian,' a romance of which father was especially fond, 
and all of which she read to us. 

" For poetry, we had a volume of selections from 
English poets, accompanied with brief sketches of their 
lives, a volume about two-thirds the size of Dana's 
* Household Book of Poetry,' a copy of Cowper, whose 
poems mother particularly liked, especially ' The 
Task ' ; a small, unbound copy of Byron's * Corsair,' 
and a volume of English songs, a collection that I 
have never since seen. This list refers, you know, to 
our first years in the woods, and everything that I 
have mentioned was read aloud to us by mother. 

" On Sundays we had a change of literature. 
Father, although not what would be called a religious 
man, as he was not a member of any church, had a 



Sabbath in the Woods. 199 

great respect for the observance of the Sabbath, and 
unlike his less scrupulous neighbors, rested from work 
on that day. The morning was devoted to reading 
the Bible, and in the evening father would sing with 
his splendid voice, ' God of Israel,' the ^ Rock of 
Ages,' and other fine old psalm tunes. One hymn of 
which he was especially fond, I remember commenced, 

" ' The day is past and gone, 

The evening shades appear ; 
Oh, may we all remember well 
The day of Death draws near.' 

** This he used to sing with great expression of de- 
votion. 

" I have often wished that I had had the advantage 
of living in New York when a child, but I would not 
now exchange a city education for the sweet memory 
of our quiet evenings at home, and the sphere of in- 
telligence and afiection in which I was nurtured." 

Mamma paused a moment, then continued : 

" These books that I have mentioned were not new 
to mother : she had read and knew them almost by 
heart long before she commenced reading them to us, 
and her mind was an inexhaustible source of knowl- 
edge. Although her school-days were limited, she 
was not ignorant of the common branches. She had 
studied, she told me, the ' Ladies ' Lexicon,' from 
which she had obtained a very thorough knowledge 



200 The Intcllcctital and Moral Qualities 

of Ensflish grammar. She wrote a trim hand, she 
had a practical knowledge of arithmetic, and geogra- 
phy had claimed a portion of her time in school ; but 
what she had learnt there was but a commencement. 
She must subsequently have studied astronomy, for 
she taught me without books to recognize the planets 
and trace the constellations, and at any hour of the 
night she could tell the time by looking at the posi- 
tion of the stars. She had the talent for dates that 
you have inherited. Marguerite, and was authority for 
the neighborhood upon all disputed points in politics 
since the days of Washington ; indeed, it was quite 
amusing to see the men all come to consult ' Aunt 
Mary ' rather than father, when a knotty question 
arose." 

" As you have described grandmamma," said Mar- 
guerite, " she appears to be superior to grandpapa. 
Do you so consider her ? " 

"Mother was father's superior," replied mamma, 
*' intellectually and morally. Father was rather cold 
in his nature, but mother had a warm heart. She 
was an enthusiastic friend, and she loved every living 
thing. I do not remember ever hearing her speak an 
ill word of a neighbor, and I am sure she never had 
an enemy in her life. 

" Though I do not call father warm-hearted, he cer- 
tainly had great affection for mother, and was sin- 
cerely attached to his family. I have heard him say 



of Mr. Greeley's Parents. 201 

that he would walk all night, rather than stop short 
of his home. 

" Father was sometimes called by our neighbors 
a hard parent. He never was, it is true, demonstra- 
tive in his affection, but he was strictly just, and never 
harsh in his treatment of us. As I have often told 
you, he believed in work for himself and his family, 
and I have heard him say that sooner than have a 
child of his grow up idle, he would make him pick 
up stones in one lot, and throw them over into the 
next one. He considered that he had been generous 
in allowing brother Horace to leave home, or, as coun- 
try people call it, ' giving him his time,' six years be- 
fore he became of age, and he was willing at any time 
to allow his daughters to seek their fortunes away 
from home, should they desire to do so. 

" This winter of 1826-27 was the last one that 
we four children spent at home together. The next 
year sister Arminda, although only twelve years old, 
opened a school in the little log-house upon our west 
farm—" 

*' When only twelve years old ! " we interrupted in 
chorus ; " pray whom did she teach ? Babies ? " 

" No," replied mamma, '' she had a dozen or four- 
teen pupils, little boys and girls, some of whom were 
older than herself, for very young children could not 
have walked that distance — three and four miles." 

" But I should think," interposed Gabrielle, *' that 
9* 



202 A Youthful Schoolmistress. 

the scholars would have felt more inclined to play 
with Aunt Arminda, than to learn the lessons she 
gave them ; she was such a child." 

" Your aunt was tall and well-developed," replied 
mamma, " and had a natural air of dignity that gave 
her the appearance of being older than she really was. 
She did not find it difficult to impress her pupils with 
respect, or to enforce obedience." 

"What did she teach them, Aunt Esther?" in- 
quired Ida; "only the elementary branches, I sup- 
pose?" 

" Reading, writing, and spelling," replied mamma ; 
" arithmetic and grammar, geography, sewing and 
knitting." 

" And how much did she make ? " I inquired, being 
of a practical turn of mind at that moment. 

" She was paid by the week," said mamma, " and 
received the same salary as the majority of school- 
mistresses in those primeval days ; seventy-five cents 
and her board. She * boarded around,' as the phrase 
was, among her pupils. This may seem very little to 
you, but you must remember that in those days a good 
milch cow cost only ten dollars, and everything else 
was proportionately cheap. 

" The next two winters, sister Arminda was in 
school herself, and the following year, when she was 
fifteen, she was married to our handsome cousin Lovel, 
Uncle Benjamin's son." 



A True Woman. 203 

Another exclamation of amazement from the little 
group, and a chorus of — 

" Married at fifteen ! How surprising ! And did 
she make a pretty bride ? " 

*' She was a very handsome girl," replied mamma, 
and made a striking contrast to her blonde brothers 
and sisters, for she had a rich brunette complexion, 
large, dark-blue eyes, glossy dark hair, and set roses 
in her cheeks, which, even now that she is a great- 
grandmother have not entirely faded. She was 
womanly far beyond her years ; not so romantic, per- 
haps, as sister Margaret and I were at her age, but 
that she possessed talent, enterprise, and ambition, is 
shown by the success of her school, established at an 
age when most girls are contentedly dressing their 
dolls. 

" Sister Arminda is a woman of superior character, 
and a devoted wife and mother. She has had many 
severe trials to contend with during her long married 
life. Her heart has known bitter sorrow, for of her 
family of eleven beautiful children only four are now 
living ; but she has borne all these afflictions with 
enduring heroism. The devotion of herself and her 
husband is something people of the world would con- 
sider quite Arcadian in these days of matrimonial 
infelicity, for until your Aunt Arminda paid me 
that visit three years ago, she had never, since her 
marriage, left her husband two successive nights." 



CHAPTER XYIIT. 

Yisitors — A Sunday Drive — Croton Lake by Daylight — A 
Sail — A Sudden SquaU — Anxiety about our Fate — Miracu- 
lous Escape from Drowniag — Arrival of a Pretty Cousin — 
A Child Poetess. 

August 4. 

A GAP in my journal of several days, during which 
time I have found it impossible to write. I have now 
several events to record. 

Papa came out Saturday afternoon to make us his 
weekly visit, accompanied by Mr. Reid. 

Papa's "young chief" looked as well as though he 
had not the weight of the new nine-story Tribune 
building upon his shoulders this hot weather, and was 
exceedingly agreeable. Those who have only known 
Mr. Reid in New York salons and in editorial rooms 
can have no idea what a different man he is when en- 
joying the relaxation of the country. Never could I 
have imagined that the haughty young proprietor of 
The Tribune would condescend to participate in " ring 
toss," croquet, and similar frivolities ; but I have 
found this summer that, besides being an adept in the 
masculine accomplishments of driving and riding, he 
is an enthusiastic champion of croquet, taking appar- 



A Sunday Excursion. 205 

ently the same pleasure in sending an adversary's 
ball to the extreme limits of the croquet-ground that 
he would in refuting a Times editorial. 

The evenins; was devoted to cards and ballad-sino:- 
ing, for, although so prominent a member of New 
York literary society, Mr. Reid does not, I am glad to 
say, think it necessary to dislike music. 

For the next day an expedition to Croton Lake had 
been planned. When alone, we never drive on Sun- 
day, except to church, lest our sober Puritan neighbors 
should be shocked ; but as we had a guest for that day, 
we made an exception to our usual severe rules ; for a 
Sunday in Chappaqua is somewhat gloomy to a visitor. 
Immediately after breakfast, therefore, the carriage 
came, and Ida and I, with papa and Mr. Reid, started 
on this pleasant little excursion, papa mischievously 
suggesting that we should look pious, and the neighbors 
would never know that we were not going to church. 

One little contretemps marked our departure. The 
Duchess had been lame for a day or two, and another 
horse had been hired for the day to replace her. The 
strange horse was evidently the property of a Quaker, 
and more accustomed to going to meeting than on friv- 
olous pleasure parties, for she was a very staid and sub- 
dued animal, and strongly c/isinclined to keeji up with 
the lively pace adopted by spirited little Lady Alice. 
The drive, therefore, was decidedly an interesting one. 
Papa held the reins, and Mr. Reid devoted himself to 



2o6 Croton Lake. 

whipping up the laggard beast. In this style we pro- 
ceeded over the country at a moderate pace, and 
finally reached the beautiful lake and the hotel upon 
its banks. The shade of the broad piazza formed a 
very pleasant relief from the heat overhead, and we 
were glad to rest a little while. We had not been 
there many minutes before some one recognized Mr. 
Reid, and informed the portly landlord, who immedi- 
ately hastened upon the scene, and welcomed him to 
Croton Lake with enthusiasm. 

In the parlor the piano was open, and half a dozen 
children were drumming upon it ; therefore, seeing 
that " music " on Sundays was not prohibited by the 
rules of the house, I went to the piano when the chil- 
dren wearied of it, and sung, at Ida's request, an Ave 
Maria, and grandpapa's favorite " Kock of Ages." 
We had some little amusement over the necessity of 
going four miles from home in order to enjoy music on 
Sundays. 

The water looked very inviting, rippling up to the 
beach, and a row to Croton Dam was proposed. 
After some little delay, a boat and a very good- 
natured negro boatman were procured, and we de- 
parted. 

The sun, I must own, was rather hot at that hour 
of the day, and struck with peculiar force upon our 
hot bombazine dresses, and heavy crape veils. Ida 
and I looked with a sigh at Mr. Reid's cool white 



Squall on the Lake. 207 

flannel suit. Sam, tlie boatman, ceased to row, and 
let the boat drift, being overcome by the heat, while 
papa sat in the bow, and looked disconsolate that he 
had not the morning news to read. 

We were now at quite a distance from the shore ^ 
and as there was no one present but the boatman to 
be shocked by hearing secular music, I ventured to 
sing a few simple ballads, for music and water I think 
blend most harmoniously. 

Soon light, fleecy clouds commenced to shield us 
from the sun's scorching rays ; we closed our parasols, 
and played with the deliciously cool water, wondering 
meantime like Miss Helen, in that exquisite '' Atlan- 
tic " story, if we could call up a mermaid from below. 
But while we were drifting along so charminglv, the 
clouds had become heavier and blacker, and seizing 
tlie oars, Sam commenced to row with desperate 
haste. We were, however, beaten in our race with 
the storm, and reached Croton Dam in a perfect tem- 
pest of thunder, and lightning, and dashing rain. 
Unfortunately Ida and 1 had worn slippers, not hav- 
ing expected to walk, and there was only one umbrella 
in the party — our little parasols with their crape 
borders and bows being more suitable for ornament 
than service ; however, we scrambled up the steep 
bank as best we could, and ran to the protecting door- 
way of the water-house (the house itself was locked, 
as it was Sunday). Here we stowed ourselves away 



208 Landlord comes to the Rescue. 

like so many sardines, and waited patiently under the 
umbrella for an hour. Finally the sun broke out, 
and we made our way over deep ponds of water back 
to our boat. Sam looked up with a dejected expres- 
sion as we approached, and feared the boat wasn't fit 
for the ladies to go home in ; he was bailing it out as 
fast as he could, but it was very wet. 

Wet indeed ! Why Sam had not drawn the boat up 
on the beach and turned it over during the rain, no 
one could imagine ; but that brilliant idea had not 
occurred to him. Therefore we were obliged to row 
back with our feet reposing in little pools of water. 

Before long, down came the rain again in torrents, 
but stimulated by the prospective fee, Sam rowed with 
giant strokes. About a mile from the hotel, we met 
the landlord rowing with desperate haste. It seems 
that the rain had been even more violent at his end 
of the lake, having been magnified into a squall upon 
the water, and a tornado upon land, blowing down 
trees, and breaking away the lattice-work of the hotel 
piazza ; consequently he supposed our boat must have 
been ingulfed, and had come to look for the corpses. 
His amazement at finding us alive, and, though very 
wet, in excellent spirits, was great. 

An entree into the hotel in our wet dresses was 
rather a formidable affair for Ida and myself, as all 
the boarders were assembled upon the piazza to see, 
I suppose, how we looked after our " miraculous es- 



Returning Home. 209 

cape from drowning." Hastening past them into a 
private room, we took off our drij)ping Avraps, and 
supplied their places with brilliant plaid shawls lent 
us by the landlady, in which we drove back to Chap- 
paqua — to the wonder, I doubt not, of all who recog- 
nized us on the way. The horses this time went more 
evenly, and the entire strain of propelling the carriage 
did not fall upon poor Lady Alice. But when we 
reached home, Mr. Reid's white suit, and our dresses, 
veils, and even faces, were a sight to behold from the 
liquid mud with which we were bespattered. We had 
to turn out of our way for a couple of miles, as a tree 
blown down by the storm lay across the main road, 
and this second detention did not increase the enthu- 
siasm of our welcome from Lina, for dinner had been 
ordered at half-past three, and it was five when W3 
reached the house. Her pet dessert, a lemon soufflee, 
intended to be eaten as soon as baked, was not, I must 
own, improved by standing so long ; but otherwise no 
serious damage was done to the dinner, and we were 
thankful that our adventures when indulging in pleas- 
ure parties on Sunday were over. 

The evening passed quietly, but very agreeably. 
Mr. Heid went down to the city in the six o'clock 
train, and papa read aloud to us Byron's splendid, 
stirring " Isles of Greece," and portions of " Childe 
Harold." Reading poetry is quite an accomplishment 
of papa's, and although he is very hap})y in sentiraen- 



210 A Pretty Cousin. 

tal and heroic verse, he has also a keen sense of 
humor, and his reading of comic and dialect poems, 
especially those of Hans Breitmann, have been much 
complimented ; indeed, in " our circle " he is the 
reader par excellence of Bret Harte, John Hay, and 
Hans Breitmann. 

August 7. 

Marguerite and Ida went down yesterday to the 
city for a day's shopping, a relaxation of which we 
are all quite fond. I walked down to the station to 
meet them upon their return, and was not a little sur- 
prised to see a third black-robed figure emerge from 
the cars with them. Too petite to be Gabrielle, who 
has been visiting a school-friend for the last week, it 
was not until the second glance that I recognized the 
abundant golden-brown hair and romantic eyes of our 
pretty cousin, Theresa Walling. 

Theresa is Aunt Arminda's granddaughter, and 
although only eighteen, is entitled to pass through a 
door in advance of Marguerite, Ida and I, and to oc- 
cupy the back seat in a carriage, for she is married, 
and has had two sweet little girls, one of whom died 
during that sad month of November, last year, and 
the oldest, her pretty Theresa Beatrice, only a week 
ago. Quite delicate from her childhood, the loss of 
her babies has been a great affliction to their poor 
little mother, and Ida brought her out to visit us, 



Personal Description. 21 1 

hoping that change of scene might bring back the for- 
mer rose-fiush to her pale cheeks. 

Early marriages appear hereditary in that branch of 
the family, for Aunt Arminda was married at fif- 
teen, and Theresa's mother at fourteen ; consequently, 
Aunt Arminda found herself a great-grandmother 
when some years short of sixty. 

I said that Theresa lost her youngest child within 
the thirty days that elapsed between uncle's and 
Aunt Mary's deaths; but those were not the only 
bereavements in our family that sad winter; before 
the spring came, Theresa's father and a little girl, our 
cousin Victoria's child, had also died. 

Theresa's beauty is not the true Greeley type — 
blonde, with blue eyes. Her complexion is some- 
what like her grandmother's — a delicate olive with an 
exquisite flush, when in health. The contour of her 
face is a perfect oval ; her eyes are dark and pensive, 
and although her hair is almost golden in its bright- 
ness, both her eyebrows and lashes are of a dark chest- 
nut brown. In figure she is, as I said, very petite j 
she and I are the two " little ones " of the family. 

Theresa displays considerable taste for literature ; 
and, notwithstanding the demand that her children 
made upon her time, has written some romantic stories 
thac have been published in New York journals. 

She has a bright little brother, and three sisters — 
Fannie, Jessie, and Lillian; all pretty and clever 



212 Fannie Fawn. 

children. Fannie, who is now only fourteen, will, I 
hope, when older, become a graceful poetess ; for the 
verses that she has already had published under her 
pretty signature, '' Fannie Fawn," are very musical, 
and promise well for the future. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

Mr. Greeley visits his Family in Pennsylvania — He expounds 
Mathematics and Philosophy to his Brother and Sis- 
ters — Fishing and Bee Hunting- — Forest Fires — A Subse- 
quent Visit — He returns as Editor of the Neio Yorker — He 
writes the ' Faded Stars ' — Characteristics of Mr. Greeley's 
Brother — His Children — Mr. Greeley's Younger Sisters — 
Their Education. 

August 9. 
" Mamma," said Marguerite, looking up from the 
tea-table where we were all assembled, " did uncle 
visit you often in Pensylvania ? I suppose so, for I 
know what an affectionate family you were, and how 
very fond he was of his parents." 

" He visited us as often as he could," replied 
mamma, " but you know that the distance was great, 
and during the four years that he spent in Poultney, 
his time was not at his command. I can only remem- 
ber two visits that he made us during that period ; 
each one, however, lasted a month. 

" It was, I think, during our second year in the 
woods that he came liome for the first time. I well 
remember, after the first joy of the reunion was over, 



214 Rural Amusements. 

examining his trunk to see what books he had brought 
with him. Those that I found there were quite dif- 
ferent from what many boys of seventeen would have 
chosen, when going home for a vacation. I do not 
recollect meeting any books of adventure or romance ; 
but works upon the higher mathematics and philosophy 
were there to show that dear brother's education was 
by no means at a standstill, although he was working 
hard to earn his own living. 

" During the evenings, he would gather us about 
him, and illustrate some mathematical problem, or, 
giving us a dissertation upon natural science, would ex- 
pound the laws of gravitation, etc. 

" In the daytime, when not fishing or bee hunting, 
he would work in the fields with father and brother 
Barnes. There was excellent trout fishing, I remem- 
ber, in the brooks ; and that, with bee hunting and 
watching the forest fires, was his only amusement ; 
for shooting was a pastime in which he never in- 
dulged." 

" I thought," said Marguerite, " that boys in the 
country were always fond of shooting." 

" As a rule they are," replied mamma; " but your 
uncle was not. His delicate, sensitive nature was 
always shocked by the sharp report of a gun. I re- 
member that when we were in Vermont he and brother 
Barnes would go out together to hunt squirrels, Barnes 
carrying the gun ; and that when the game was found. 



Gathering Wild Honey. 215 

brother Horace would cover his ears with his hands, 
to soften the noise of the discharge. 

'* I suppose, my dears, that you do not know how 
hvinters find wild honey ? " 

We knew little of wild honey save that John the 
Baptist used to eat it, so mamma continued : 

" The bees, having no hives provided for them, made 
their honey in the hollow trunks of trees ; and as 
it was one of the luxuries of our table, it was 
quite important to trace out their hiding-places. 
Brother Barnes would go out with a little box of 
syrup or honey, and when he found a bee upon a 
flower would imprison it in the box, detaining it 
there until it had had time to load itself with sweet- 
ness. When it was released, it would make a ' bee 
line ' for its home in the tree ; never pausing by the 
way, even for the sweetest flowers. Barnes would 
note the direction it had taken, and follow it as well 
as he could ; but often he would be obliged to capt- 
ure several bees, and sometimes pass days in the 
pursuit, before he would be rewarded by hearing in 
some tree a buzzing that could almost be called roar- 
ing. The next step was to fell the tree, which would 
cause the bees to quickly disperse; not, however, 
without stinging the intruder ; but the result com- 
pensated for a sting or two, for it was not unusual for 
Barnes to find from twenty to thirty pounds in a 
tree, often, however, so mixed with the softwood that 



2i6 Forest Fires. 

we were obliged to strain it before it was fit to put 
upon the table." 

" You spoke of the forest fires, mamma," said Mar- 
guerite ; " pray, what were they ? The woods were 
never literally on fire, I suppose." 

" Oh yes," replied mamma, " and the fire often 
lasted a long time. One means of clearing the ground 
to make a farm was to fell the trees, while in full leaf- 
age, in what were called ' winrows.' They lay in 
great piles for a year and sometimes longer ; then 
when quite dry they would be ignited, and a glorious 
bonfire on a gigantic scale would ensue. The fire 
would burn up not only all the logs and dead leaves 
upon the ground, but, spreading its way through the 
forest, would do considerable damage to the living 
trees, burning as it often did for weeks. It was, how- 
ever, a grand sight to watch it through the darkness of 
the night, and when the fire running up the hollow 
trunk of some dead tree would burst out in a blaze at 
the top, we children were filled with enthusiasm, and 
used to call them ' our beacon lights.' Never did 
brother Horace seem happier than during that fiery 
season, and often he and brother Barnes spent the 
greater portion of the night among the burning log- 
piles, stirring up the fires when they smouldered, and 
throwing on brush and fresh logs. 

" During the year that he worked at his trade upon 
the shores of Lake Erie, we saw him more frequently ; 



A Dreamer. 217 

but the visit that I remember with the greatest pleas- 
ure was one that he made us just after establishing his 
N'ew Yorker. I was much impressed during this last 
visit with a marked change in brother's taste and 
character — a change indicated as much by his reading 
as by his external appearance. His trunk was now 
filled with standard works and volumes of poems, in- 
stead of treatises upon science, and he appeared in a 
perpetual rose-dream. He seemed to me the embodi- 
ment of romance and poesy, and now as I think of 
him with his pure, unselfish nature, so early devoted 
to what was noblest and best, I can only compare him 
to the high-minded boy-saint, the chaste, seraphic 
Aloysius. 

" It was while at home this time that he wrote his 
poem ' The Faded Stars,' that was published in the 
N^ew Yorker, and copied into several leading jour- 
nals—" 

" Oh, I am so fond of that poem," interrupted Ida, 
" that I have copied it into my album of poetical selec- 
tions. Papa wrote it, you say, while visiting you ? " 

" Yes, he wrote it in the room where the family 
were all assembled. I recollect sitting beside him and 
watching his face as line after line flowed from his 
pen. I had never before seen any one write a poem, 
and it seemed to me quite wonderful. Read it to me, 
^Ida, if your album is at hand ; I do not recollect all 
he stanzas." 
10 



2l8 A Poem written by Mr. Greeley 



"THE FADED STARS." 

BY HORACE GREELEY. 
I. 

I mind tlie time when Heaven's higli dome 
Woke in my soul a wondrous thrill — 

When every leaf in Nature's tome 
Bespoke Creation's marvels stUl ; 

When morn unclosed her rosy bars, 

Woke joys intense ; but naught e'er bade 

My soul leap up like ye bright stars ! 
« 

II. 

' Calm ministrants to God's high glory ! 

Pure gems around His burning throne ! 

Mute watchers o'er man's strange, sad story 

Of crime and woe through ages gone ! 

'Twas yours, the wild and hallowing spell. 

That lured me from ignoble glens — 

Taught me where sweeter fountains 

Than ever bless the worldling's dreams. 

III. 
' How changed was life ! A waste no more 
Beset by Pain, and Want, and Wrong, 
Earth seemed a glad and fairy shore. 

Made vocal with Hope's impassioned song. 
But ye bright sentinels of Heaven ! 

Far glories of Night's radiant sky ! 
Who when ye lit the brow of Even 
Has ever deemed man born to die ? 

* Here a line is missing. 



in his Youth. 219 

TV. 

" 'Tis faded now ! That wondrous grace 

That once on Heaven's forehead shone : 
I see no more in Nature's face 

A soul responsive to mine own. 
A dimness on my eye and spirit 

Has fallen since those gladsome years, 
Few joys my hardier years inherit, 

And leaden dulness rules the spheres. 

V. 

** Yet mourn not I ! A stem high duty 

Now nerves my arm and fires my brain. 
Perish the dream of shapes of Beauty ! 

And that this strife be not in vain 
To war on fraud intrenched with power, 

On smooth pretence and specious wrong, 
This task be mine tho' Fortune lower — 

For this be banished sky and song." 

" How did it happen, mamma," inquired Marguerite, 
*' that Uncle Barnes has not become a distinguished 
man? Is he not clever like Uncle Horace, or was he 
not fond of learning ? It seems strange that he never 
left home to seek his fortune in the world." 

" Brother Barnes has quite as much genius," mamma 
quickly replied, " as your Uncle Horace, and under 
equally favoring circumstances would have made as 
brilliant a man. A farmer's life was distasteful to 
him, and it was for years his dream to go away from 



220 Mr. Greeley s Brother. 

home, and receive an education that would fit him for 
the bar or the pulpit, towards both of which * callings ' 
he was strongly attracted. It would, however, have 
been impossible for 'father to have hewn a farm un- 
aided out of the wilderness, and he could not afford to 
hire any assistance, so brother Barnes generously sac- 
rificed all his own aspirations and preferences, and de- 
voted his life, which might have been a brilliant and 
successful one, to the dull routine of farm acres." 

"Did Uncle Barnes resemble papa much, as a 
boy ? " inquired Ida. 

" Your uncle was of a very different temperament," 
replied mamma; "he was as gay and loquacious as 
your papa was silent and abstracted. He was very 
fond of reading and of study, but he lacked your 
papa's perseverance ; he was more awake to the outer 
world and its distractions, whereas brother Horace 
was oblivious to everything else, when he once held a 
book in his hand. 

" I have told you what a splendid voice your grand- 
father had. Brother Barnes was the only one of the 
five children who inherited it, and with it a very 
quick ear for music. I remember hearing mother 
say, that when he was three and four years old, he 
was often called upon to sing for our friends, who not 
^^nfrequently rewarded his talent with presents ; how- 
ever, at the time when his voice changed, it com- 
pletely lost its musical qualities, to our great regret. 



Characteristic. 221 

" As he grew older, he developed a taste for argu- 
ment, that would have done him good service had he 
been able to follow out his darling project of becom- 
ing a lawyer ; indeed, as it was, he was always called 
upon, unprofessionally, to settle the neighbors' dis- 
putes, and was renowned for making all the love- 
matches of the neighborhood. In his reading he had 
rather a peculiar taste ; he delighted in theological 
and controversial books, and I never knew any one 
who was more thoroughly acquainted with the Bible. 
He could not only give the precise chapter and verse 
from which any text was taken, but was able to de- 
tect the slightest verbal error in the quotation. 

" He had a passion for preaching, and although un- 
ordained, was always ready to deliver a sermon when- 
ever he could find a vacant church and an audience. 

" Every one in America has heard of your papa's 
benevolent disposition, and the amount he used to 
spend in private charities. Your Uncle Barnes was, 
if possible, more generous. I have known him to 
part with his last dollar to relieve another from want 
or embarrassment, and this was not done through 
weakness or inability to refuse, but from a genuine 
impulse of sympathy with those in need. 

" I am very proud to say of my only surviving 
brother, that although he has never had the advan- 
tage of a good education, he has lived to the age of 
sixty without indulging in tobacco, wine, or profane 



222 Victoria Greeley. 

language, and has bronglit up his boys in the same 
temperate habits." 

** How many children has Uncle Barnes, Aunt 
Esther ? " inquired Ida. " I have, I think, seen only 
three." 

" There are ten living," replied mamma. " Brother 
Barnes, you know, has been twice married. His first 
wife was a woman of fine character, but becam^e, soon 
after her marriage, a confirmed invalid, and brother 
Barnes' constant attention and care of her during 
her years of illness was almost unparalleled for devo- 
tion. 

" Victoria is the oldest of the children : she was a 
very bright, clever little girl, and a great pet with 
mother, as she was the first grandchild born at home. 
Sister Arminda's children, living at some distance, 
were not so available for instruction, and in that 
occupation consisted mother's happiness. She taught 
Victoria to read when she was two years and a half 
old, and I remember seeing her stand, a few years 
later, at mother's knee, reading one of Hans Christian 
Andersen's stories, with the tears streaming down her 
cheeks at the pathos — a proof of appreciation that de- 
lighted mother's heart. 

*' Victoria is married, and lives in Kansas. She is 
a fine, intelligent woman, and since the loss of her 
little girl, last winter, has shown a strong disposition 
to write. She has the ability to do so, and if her 



Her Brothers a^id Sisters, 223 

health and her home duties permit, I am sure she will 
make a clever wiiter. 

'* Horace, whom you have seen, is next Victoria in 
age ; he is also married, and lives in New Jersey. 

" Two married daughters, Mary and Esther, follow. 
Mary's mind resembles mother's iu her grasp for 
politics and history, but she inherits her own mother's 
feeble health, which unfits her for giving expression 
to her masculine intellect. Esther, who was named 
for me, is a sweet and lovely woman, and a devoted 
wife and mother. 

" Poor Woodburn came next on the list — a sensi- 
tive, silent youth, more resembling his Uncle Horace 
than any of the other children. You all recollect his 
sad death three years ago. 

*' Oscar and Clarence are the youngest of Sally's, 
the first wife's, children. Clarence is the cleverest of 
the family among the boys. He is very well edu- 
cated, and now supports himself as a land surveyor, 
although not yet twenty years old." 

'' Where does he live. Aunt Esther ? " inquired 
Gabrielle; " With his father ? " 

" No ; in Kansas with Victoria," was the reply. 
" I must not forget to tell you that he taught school 
in Indiana when only sixteen years old, and received 
a diploma from the State. His half-sister, Eugenia, 
who is only fourteen, has had very pretty verses 
published in different New York journals." 



224 Education of 

" Did Aunt Margaret receive as good an education 
as you did, when a young girl, mamma? " inquired 
Marguerite. " I remember hearing you say that you 
were sent away to school for two or three years." 

" No," replied mamma, " her advantages for learn- 
ing were not so good as mine ; indeed, I was her prin- 
cipal teacher. As I have told you, I went to school 
very little as a child, and the village school at Ver- 
mont gave only the most meagre and elementary in- 
struction, but I was always an eager reader of what- 
ever came in my way, as well as an attentive listener, 
and thus I contrived while in the woods to pick up con- 
siderable information. I remember seeing at that 
time in a neighbor's house, a little, cheaply bound vol- 
ume, * Blair's Rhetoric,' which so interested me that 
I offered to take care of the owner's baby for two 
weeks, if she would give me the book. A bargain was 
accordingly made ; I * tended baby ' for fifteen days, 
and received in exchange the precious volume, which 
I studied until I learnt it by heart. 

*' Then I saved pennies until I had collected a suf- 
ficient number to send to Erie and purchase a copy of 
Comstock's Natural Philosophy — the first one by the 
way that had ever been brought into our township — 
and these two books, together with my self-acquired 
knowledge, and my own experience of two years as a 
teacher, sufficed to fit me to enter the Fredonia Acad- 



Mr. Greeley s Sisters. 225 

emy, and to compete fairly with the other girls whose 
instruction had not been so dearly bought. 

" I spent four of the happiest years of my life in 
school at Fredonia, and only regretted that sister 
Margaret could not have shared my advantages. 

" Meantime, Margaret commenced to teach school 
at the age of fifteen, and continued to do so, until 
she was married, when twenty years old, giving great 
satisfaction to every one. She has, you know, three 
children. Her two boys, Eugene and Arthur, are 
promising young men, and are both employed in The 
Tribune office. Arthur is married, and has several 
children. We all know how pretty his sister Evan- 
geline is ; she, you know, is to become Mrs. Dr. Ross 
this winter." 
10* 



CHAPTER XX. 

A Quiet Household — Absence of Marguerite and Gabrielle — 
Amusing Letters from them — A G-ypsy Fortune-teller — 
Marguerite returns with a Visitor — The Harvest Moon — 
Preparing for Company — Arranging the Blue Room — In- 
tense Anticipation — " ' He Cometh Not,' She Said." 

August 14. 

Our little household has been unusually quiet for 
the past week, owing to the absence of the two lively 
members of the family, Marguerite and Gabrielle, who 
are visiting friends by the seaside and upon the shores 
of Seneca Lake. Their absence makes a great change 
in the ways of the household, for Ida and I have not 
the high spirits and constant flow of words that dis- 
tinguish our sisters, and we spend our time as quietly 
and busily as two little nuns, not even dreaming of 
asking any one to come up from the city and pass 
Saturday with us. We miss them very much, espec- 
ially at the table, and in the half hour after tea, when 
we always gather about mamma's sofa for a little chat, 
before separating for our evening's work — writing, 
practising, or whatever it may be. 

Ida and I usually form the audience upon these 



A Letter front Mai'giierite. 227 

occasions, and listen with great interest to Marguerite's 
entertaining stories of adventures at home and abroad, 
or Gabrielle's droll mimicry of the strongly marked 
characteristics of some one she has met or dreamed of. 
Sometimes the candles are extinguished, and a ghost 
story is told, for Gabrielle is fond of the supeinatural, 
and her dramatic style of narration adds much to our 
enjoyment; indeed, chancing the other day to read in 
a magazine one of her pet stories, I was astonished to 
find how tame it sounded. 

Ida and I find, however, some compensation for our 
sisters' absence in their sprightly letters, which arrive 
while we are at the tea-table. Marguerite writes 
every day, and her letters are inimitable in their 
humor and espril^ for she writes exactly as she talks. 
She is visiting some friends whose acquaintance we 
made in Paris, and who have a beautiful country-seat 
upon Long Island. Her letters are filled with 
accounts of drives, fishing-parties, and excursions in 
yachts and row-boats, and, lastly, of meeting a real 
gypsy encampment (not the time-honored one in " Trov- 
atore ") and having her fortune told. 

A gypsy woman, it seems, stopped the carriage as 
Marguerite was driving past, and expressed so strong 
a desire to " unveil the future for the young lady," that 
Marguerite consented, and held out her hand. Quite 
scornfully the gypsy said that ber own palm must first 
be crossed with money. Marguerite accordingly gave 



228 A Gypsy Fortune-teller. 

her a dollar bill, thinking that would be the full value 
of any fortune she would receive from a wandering 
gypsy, but the money was indignantly returned — the 
oracle did not tell one-dollar fortunes. 

Somewhat astonished at so extensive a demand 
upon her purse. Marguerite gave her another dollar, 
whereupon the gypsy at once declared that the young 
lady had a lucky face, and would never want for any- 
thing during her life. The usual dark and fair gen- 
tlemen figured largely in her fortune, and — with a 
glance at Marguerite's blonde complexion — she was to 
beware the treachery of a brunette rival ; however, she 
was destined to triumph in the end, and would indeed 
succeed in all her undertakings. I am sure the gypsy 
could have promised no less, considering the high 
price she placed upon her predictions. 

Gabrielle's experience is very different. She is visit- 
ing a former schoolmate, a young girl of her own age. 
Bessie is now a pupil of Yassar College, and enthusi- 
astic over her studies : consequently the amusements of 
the two girls are of a very sedate nature : in Gabrielle's 
words, " A hermit in his cell, my dear Cecilia, never 
had a more quiet life than I at present enjoy." 

She and Bessie had commenced, Gabrielle told 
me, to write a story together. The debut was most 
brilliant, and for a time they worked very harmoni- 
ously, but unluckily the two little authoresses had 
different views respecting the proposal (not drawn 



A Letter from Gabrielle. 229 

from life, I imagine, considering their years), and in 
Gabrielle's letter of yesterday no mention was made of 
the progress of the story. 

The letter, which was very vivacious, was chiefly 
devoted to the girls' exploits while taking a buggy 
drive. Gabrielle, who is so fearless with her own po- 
nies, quite scorned the lamb-like animal that was sent 
up from the livery stable, but she appears to have had 
much diversion, nevertheless, to judge from her letter. 
She says : 

*' Yesterday I tried to break the monotony of life at 
Seneca Lake by hiring a buggy and horse for Bessie 
and me to drive. You should have heard the shriek 
of horror that rent the air at the approach of the 
peaceful old nag. Miss Carpenter exclaimed : 

" ' Oh mercy, he points his ears ! ' 

" Poor beast, his ears were pointed by nature, and 
he could not help it. Mrs. Brown burst forth to the 
astonished stableman : 

" * Does he kick, roll, rear, bite, or shy ? Tell me 
quick, for I know he must do some of them.' 

" We did have our drive though, and an adventure 
too, for we were caught in the rain, and entered a 
barn where a handsome young man acted the part of 
host, and generously bestowed hay ujoon our horse." 

August 16. 
A telegram last night from Marguerite, saying, 



230 The Honorable Francis. 

" Will come on the early train with the Honorable 
Francis " — a very pleasant surprise, for, knowing the 
habits of that gentleman, we had supposed him to be, 
if not at the Antipodes, at least in Europe ; accord- 
ingly, we went down to meet the train in quite a flut- 
ter of excitement. 

Mr. Colton is " honorable" from having represented 
his government for four years at Venice. In appear- 
ance he is tall and swarthy, with a foreign and 
picturesque cast of features not unlike the Italian 
type : a " lovely brigand " we sometimes call him. 
Notwithstanding his easy and somewhat nonchalant 
air, he is a true American in his active and restless 
disposition and his love for travelling. I would be 
afraid to state the number of miles he has travelled 
since we made his acquaintance in Paris four years 
ago, and I have known him to start at forty-eight 
hours' notice to make a tour of the world. 

Mr. Colton made us a visit of two days, and was 
sufficiently enthusiastic over dear Chappaqua to sat- 
isfy even our exacting demands. 

We had some sport over the probable speculations 
of the telegraph operators concerning our visitor. 
Out of mischief. Marguerite had mentioned him in her 
telegram merely as " the Honorable Francis ; " for so 
deep an interest is taken in the messages we receive 
and send, that we enjoy puzzling the operators a little ; 
indeed, we may say that our telegrams are common 



ii 



Aji Incident. 231 

property liere, for seldom do we receive them until 
they have been carefully read by the telegraph and 
railroad officials, and then handed to any interested 
outsider who may chance to be in the office. I will 
give a little scene that occurred not long ago, by way 
of illustration. 

Our friend Mr. A alights from the morning 

train, and is welcomed by a friend of his who is stop- 
ping for a week or so in Chappaqua. 

" Delighted to see you, A . Knew you were 

coming up this morning, so thought I would run 
down to the train and meet you." 

" How in the world did you know I was coming, my 

dear fellow ? " inquires the astonished A . " You 

don't know Mrs. Cleveland or her niece, do you ? " 

" No, I don't know them," is the prompt reply, 
^* but I was in the telegraph office yesterday, and 
saw your acceptance when it arrived." 

TABLEAU. 

August 19. 

I am not partial to Friday, as it is often an unlucky 
day for me — a superstition that has come down to me 
from grandmamma ; but, although I try to think it 
absurd, our experience of yesterday proved a singular 
confirmation. 

Ida and I had thought to celebrate the return of 
Marguerite and Gabrielle by inviting several friends 



232 Preparations for a Fete. 

from the city to enjoy the delicious moonlight with us. 
Mamma accordingly wrote the invitations, and we at 
once commenced our preparations. The fete we de- 
cided should last three days, and was to commence 
Friday afternoon — ominous day ! We were to have 
moonlight walks and drives ; we were to kindle a fire 
of pine cones and charcoaL upon the beach at Rye 
Lake, and boil the kettle and make tea ; a boat was to 
be placed upon our own little pond, and a tent pitched 
near by ; and, last and most brilliant, Ida's lovely 
Southern friend. Miss Worthington, and Gabrielle, 
were to occupy the tent, dressed as gypsies, and tell 
the fortunes of the company. 

We could scarcely wait for Friday to arrive, but 
there were many preparations to be made, so we 
curbed our impatience and worked very industriously. 
As we were now seven in the household, not counting 
the servants, and had invited quite a number of guests, 
the resources of our house were not extensive enough 
to stow them all away, consequently we spent a lively 
morning at the side-hill house fitting up three rooms, 
with Minna's assistance. 

The blue room, with its pretty outlook upon the 
meadows, was our favorite, and upon it we bestowed 
the most attention. The carpet was gray and blue, of 
an especially pretty pattern, and the handsome marble- 
topped bureau, exhumed from the never-failing re- 
sources of the house in the woods, looked as fresh as 



The Blue Room. 233 

though purchased yesterday. We made the bed with 
our own hands, touching with reverent care the superb 
blankets with their inscription : 

"To Horace Greeley, the Protector of American 
Industry." 

Then, when the blue silk eider-down counterpane 
was adjusted to our satisfaction, and one or two little 
ornaments added to the bureau and chimney-piece — 
" Cupid " in the Naples Gallery, and my dear Lela's 
portrait, both framed in blue velvet, and a beautiful 
Sevres vase which mamma calls " the one that Pickie 
clidnH break " (his little hands destroyed its mate) — 
we congratulated ourselves upon the effect of the room. 

Aproj^os of the Cupid, Ida sent it last winter with 
Annibal Caracci's " Magdalen " and one or two other 
religious pictures to be framed at Schaus'. When 
they were sent home, to our surprise, the frames were 
all surmounted by crosses — an emblem that, although 
quite en regie for the Holy Magdalen, was, we thought, 
singularly inappropriate for Cupid. Stopping in at 
Schaus' a day or two later, I inquired of young 
Mr. Schaus, to whose taste we had left the selection 
of the frames, his reason for this extraordinary inno- 
vation. His reply was as naive as unexpected : 

'' But, mademoiselle, does Cupid, then, never meet 
with crosses ? " 

Having done our best for the blue room, we walked 
over the grounds to see that they were all in order, 



234 Forebodings. 

and when we had admired the pretty blue boat, the 
white tent, and the water-lilies in full bloom (planted 
that morning), and gone down to the express office to 
receive a package due by the ten o'clock train — a 
copy of the poems of one of the expected guests, which 
was to be left carelessly in his room with a mark at 
one of the ballads, — we congratulated ourselves that we 
had done all in our power to make the rooms look 
tasteful and pretty. 

liina was in her glory, having had an unrestricted 
order to do her best. I had a sliorht foreboding of dis- 
appointment, as it was Friday, remembering, too, that 
the dining-room was lighted by three candles the 
previous night (a French superstition) ; but we all 
dressed in good spirits. 

The somewhat spectral appearance of five ladies in 
mourning was somewhat relieved by the recent addi- 
tion to our little circle. Miss Worthington, whose 
dress, though black, was enlivened by a little dash of 
pale blue — a most becoming match for her fair com- 
plexion and golden curls. 

We did not wish to ruffle our hair unnecessarily by 
playing croquet or walking, so we all sat very sedately 
in the music-room watching for the 5.15 train to 
arrive. It came at last. We rushed out on the 
piazza, but recognized no one among the few j)assen- 
gers who alighted. 

Disappointment number one. However, they will 



'''He Cometh Not; She Said:' 23s 

surely come at half-past six, we argued, and taking up 
some books and work, we waited patiently until the 
next train arrived. Again we ran out upon the 
piazza. Papa was upon the platform at the depot, 
but we saw no other figure that looked familiar. 

" What did I tell you, Ida," said I solemnly, 
^' when, against my entreaties, three candles were 
lighted last night ? " 

Never before was papa so long in walking up from 
the station — I suppose for the reason that he came laden 
with messages, notes, and telegrams. His "young 
chief" was detained in the editorial rooms by affairs 
of great moment ; another gentleman had been sum- 
moned to the bedside of his father, who was in a dying 
condition ; two other gentlemen had plunged rashly 
into the preliminary steps to matrimony, and were, I 
suppose, engaged in serenading their fiancees^ while the 
other two had apparently been made way with, for 
from them we had no message of any sort. 

The crowning injury was the receipt of a book from 
a friend who is in the habit of supplying me with the 
latest novels. Usually I am pleased with the books 
she sends me, but a glance at the title, " ' He Cometh 
Not,' She Said," made me hurl it to the farthest corner 
of the room ; that was too much for any one to bear. 

We sat down with small appetites to the elaborate 
dinner that Lina had prepared, and went gloomily to 
bed at an early hour. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

The Story of Mr. Greeley's Parents continued — He accom- 
panies his Mother to New Hampshire — Her Sisters — Three 
Thanksgivings in One Year — Pickie as a Baby — H's Child- 
hood — Mrs. Greeley's Careful Training — His Playthings — 
His Death — A Letter from Margaret Fuller. 

August 21. 

" Mamma," said I, waking from a deep reverie as I 
sat beside our bright wood-fire (for we have had two 
days of dashing rain, and fires have not been at all 
disagreeable), " did grandpapa ever return to New 
Hampshire after he left it in 1821 ? " 

" No, my dear," was the reply ; " lie never re- 
turned, nor did he manifest any desire to see his for- 
mer home and his old friends again. I suppose that 
all of his })leasant recollections of New Hampsliire 
were superseded by the thought that it was the scene 
of his bankruptcy, and his proud spirit shrunk from 
meeting those who might remember that he had left 
Amherst a fugitive. He was deeply attached to his 
forest home, and I do not think he ever had an hour 
of discomfort after he came there. Father always ex- 
pressed the wish that he might be buried upon his 



Serene Old Age. 237 

farm. His old age "was very serene and happy; he 
lived to see his ' hole in the forest ' become an exten- 
sive farm, and the vast wilderness that had surrounded 
him disappear, while the little tavern and cluster of 
log-houses across the State line from us grew to be 
the village of Clymer. 

*' Father died in 1867, at the age of eighty-seven. 

" As for mother, she had the happiness before her 
death of seeing h«r fondly loved relatives once more. 
In the autumn of 1843, mother and I went to New 
Hampshire to visit the old home and friends. Father 
was urged to accompany us, but he chose to cling to 
his Western home. For the third time I now trav- 
elled in a canal-boat, but this time it was a packet, 
and not one of the slow ' line-boats ' that I described 
to you in speaking of our journey from Vermont to 
Pennsylvania. 

" Brother Horace accompanied us from New York 
to New Hampshire, where we spent several weeks 
visiting mother's old friends and relatives. The meet- 
ing between mother and her sister. Aunt Margaret 
Dickey, was especially tender, for they had been sep- 
arated many years, and did not expect to meet again. 

" Aunt Margaret is still living, although now in her 
ninetieth year. I remember hearing that she read 
your uncle's ' Kecollections,' as they appeared in the 
Ledger^ with the liveliest interest. She was at that 
time eighty-four years old. 



238 Three Thanksgivings. 

-> 

" In her youth Aunt Margaret was a decided 
beauty, with hixuriant hair of the real golden shade, 
neither flaxen, ash-color, nor red. She was naturally 
refined and amiable. 

'' From New Hampshire we went to Fitchburg, 
Massachusetts, where mother's half-sister, Sally, re- 
sided. Aunt Sally was doubly my aunt, having mar- 
ried father's brother, Dustin Greeley. She was a 
slender, handsome woman, with blue eyes and light 
hair, and possessed mother's happy temperament, 
which all the trials of her hard life had not been able 
to change. 

" That year I celebrated three Thanksgivings within 
as many weeks." 

*' Pray how did that happen, auntie ? " inquired 
Gabrielle, who had just entered the room. 

" Thanksgiving Day was not then restricted to the 
last Thursday in the month," was the reply, " but was 
appointed by the Governor of each State at any time 
that he saw fit between harvest and the holidays ; 
therefore, being in three different States within a 
nlonth, I had three Thanksgiving dinners. 

" When we returned to New York, we stopped for 
a short visit at Turtle Bay. Pickie was then eight 
months old, and as sweet and poetic-looking as one of 
Correggio's cherubs. Your mamma was then in the 
.first flush of her maternal enthusiasm. She and your 
papa were desirous that mother should remain in New 



Death of Mr. Greeley's Mother. 239 

York and spend the winter with them ; but fondly as 
she loved your papa, and dear as her daughter-in-law 
and her little gi-andson were to her, she felt that her 
duty and her strongest love recalled her to her hus- 
band and her home in the woods. She returned to 
Pennsylvania, and took up again her life of daily care, 
but she brought back little joy with her, although no 
word of discontent escaped her. Her favorite seat 
was by the window looking east, and there we often 
surprised her gazing with an intent look down the 
road. When we would ask her if she was expecting 
any one, or for whom she was looking, she would say 
with a startled expression, ' Oh, no one ; ' but we 
always fancied that she was* thhiking of her early 
home that she had now left forever. 

" A year or two later, slowly, silently, and peace- 
fully she passed away." 

"I thought, auntie," said Gabrielle, "that you 
lived with mamma when Pickie was a baby. I am 
sure I have heard her say that you helped her to take 
. care of him." 

" That is true, dear," replied mamma, " but I did 
not remain in New York at the time of which we are 
now speaking. I accompanied mother home to Penn- 
sylvania, and the following spring, when Pickie was a 
year old, your mamma wrote to ask me to come back, 
and assist her in the care of her beautiful boy. I re- 
mained with her until my marriage, consequently 



240 Mrs. Greeley as a Mother. 

Pickie became very near to me, and his death was 
almost as great a shock to me as it was to his parents." 

" Do tell us, mamma," said Marguerite, " about 
Pickie's childhood. I have always heard that he was 
brought up in a very remarkable way, but beyond the 
fact of Aunt Mary's great devotion to him, I know 
very little concerning him." 

" Your Aunt Mary," mamma replied, "looked upon 
Pickie's birth as much in the light of a miracle as if 
no other child had ever before been born. He was 
Heaven-sent to her, and she sacrificed herself com- 
pletely for the better development of Pickie's individ- 
uality, or, to use the language of the reformers of those 
days, in 'illustrating the independence of the child's 
self-hood.' Nothing could have been more boundless 
than her enthusiasm for her baby ; and it was night 
and day her study to guard his health, and to watch 
and cherish his opening intellect. No child prince 
could have been more tenderly and daintily nurtured 
than he was ; as his father often said, ' Pickie is a 
dear boy in every sense of the word ; ' for nothing was . 
too rare or too costly for him. 

" You have heard of the brilliancy of his complex- 
ion : this was owing in part to his mother's watchful 
care of his diet, and to his bathing. An hour was al- 
lowed for his daily bath, and for brushing out his lux- 
uriant, silken hair. This was one of my duties, and 



Pickie's Diet. 241 

no doubt it was that scrupulous care that gave it so 
rare a shade. 

'^ As for his food, it was quite peculiar. He never 
ate baker's bread, nor indeed any bread prepared by- 
other hands than his mother's or mine, and he was not 
given meat or cake — with the exception of oatmeal 
cake — while candies, or indeed sugar in any form, but- 
ter, and salt were rigidly excluded from his diet ; but 
white grapes, and every choice fruit that this or foreign 
markets afforded, he was allowed to eat in abundance, 
and the result of this system was a sturdy constitution, 
and a complexion unparalleled for beauty. 

" I said that he never ate butter ; but cream and 
milk were given him instead." 

"What sort of toys did he have, mamma?" I in- 
quired. " I can never imagine him playing with dolls 
like an ordinary child." 

"He never did," replied mamma; "his toys, like 
his meals, were peculiar. One of the largest rooms in 
the house was chosen for his nursery, and as his 
mother would not have a carpet upon the floor, it was 
scrubbed daily. Here his playthings were kept — a 
singular assortment one would think them, but your 
aunt seldom gave him what would simply amuse him 
for the moment, but sought rather to surround him by 
objects that would suggest ideas to his mind — on a 
plan somewhat like that of the Kindergarten system, 
but more poetic, and entirely original with herself. 
11 



242 Pickie's Associations. 

He had lovely pictures, and a real violin, while the 
shops were constantly searched for whatever was cu- 
rious, instructive, or beautiful. 

'^ Pickie's mind and conversation were very unlike 
those of the children even of our best families, for he 
never had children for playfellows, and those friends 
whom his mother permitted to be near him were of 
the most cultivated and noble character. His lanojuage 
consequently was as choice as that of the minds who 
surrounded him, and very quaint it sounded from a 
child's lips. At this time Margaret Fuller was with 
us, and Pickie lived in most intimate relations to 
this pure, high-minded woman. 

" In her care to prevent Pickie from knowing of the 
existence of wickedness and cruelty in this world, 
your Aunt Mary would rarely permit him to converse 
long with any save the chosen few that I have men- 
tioned, lest the innocence of his child-mind should be 
shocked by hearing of war, or murder, or cruelty to 
animals, while she was ever guarding him lest his eyes 
might rest upon some painful or disagreeable object." 

" Don't you think, mamma," said Marguerite, " that 
that letter of Margaret Fuller's upon Pickie's death 
shows remarkable feeling for a child unrelated to 
her?" 

*' Which letter ? " inquired Ida. 

" The one that is copied in the ' Recollections,' '* 
was the reply. 



A Precious Letter 243 

" I think," returned Ida, ^' that the one she wrote 
to papa which has never been published is much 
finer." 

" Oh, do read it to us," said Marguerite. So, unlock- 
ing a little box, Ida took out a sheet quite yellow and 
worn, and read it to us : 

" RiETi, August 25, 1848. 

" My Beloved Friend : — Bitterest tears alone 
can answer those words — Pickle is dead. My heart 
has all these years presaged them. I have suffered 
not a few sleepless hours thinking of our darling, 
haunted with fears never again to see his sweet, joyous 
face which on me, also, always looked with love and 
trust. But I always thought of small-pox. Kow how 
strangely snatched from you, oh poor mother ; how 
vain all your feverish care night and day to ward off 
the least possible ill from that fair frame. Oh, how 
pathetic it seems to think of all tbat was done for 
dear, dear Pickie to build up strong that temple from 
which the soul departed so easily. 

" You say I left him too soon fco know him well, 
but it was not so. I had spiritual sight of the child, 
and knew his capacities. I hoped to be of use to him 
if he lived, for sweet was our communion beside the 
murmuring river, and when lie imitated the low 
voices of the little brook, or telling him stories in my 
room, which even then he well understood. A thou- 
sand times I have thouojht of the time when he first 



244 Margaret Fuller's Grief 

said the word Open to get into my room, and my 
heart always was open to him. He was my consola- 
tion in hours sadder than you ever guessed — my 
spring-flower, my cheerful lark. None but his parents 
could love him so well ; no child, except little Waldo 
Emerson, had I ever so loved. In both 1 saw the 
promise of a great future : its realization is deferred 
to some other sphere ; ere long may we follow and aid 
it there. 

" Ever sacred, my friend, be this bond between us — 
the love and knowledge of the child. I was his 
aunty ; and no sister can so feel what you lose. My 
friend, I have never wept so for grief of my own, as 
now for yours. It seems to me too cruel ; you are 
resigned ; you make holy profit of it ; the spear has 
entered and forced out the heart's blood, the pure 
ichor follows. I know not yet how to feel so ; I have 
not yet grieved away the bitter pang. 

"My mother wrote me he said sometimes he 
would get a boat and carry yellow flowers to his 
Aunty Margaret. I suppose he had not yet quite 
forgotten that I used to get such for him. I often 
thought what I should carry him from Europe — what 
I should tell him — what teach ? He had a heart of 
natural poetry; he would have prized all that was 
best. 

" Oh, it is all over ; and indeed this life is over for 
me. The conditions of this planet are not propitious 



i 



at Pickies Death. 245 

to the lovely, the just, the pure; it is these that go 
away; it is the unjust that triumph. Let us, as you 
say, purify ourselves ; let us labor in the good spirit 
here, but leave all thought of results to Eternity. 

'* I say this, and yet my heart is bound to earth as 
never before ; for I, too, have a dearer self — a little 
son. He is now about the age sweet Pickie was 
when I was with him most ; and I have thought much 
of the one in the dawning graces of the other. But I 
accept the lesson, and will strive to prepare myself to 
resign him. Indeed, I liad the warning before ; for, 
during the siege of Rome, when I could not see him, 
my mind, agonized by the danger of his father, as well 
as all the overpowering and infamous injuries heaped 
upon the noble, sought refuge in the thought of him 
safe in his green nook, and, as I thought, in care of 
worthy persons. When at last we left, our dearest 
friends laid low, our fortunes finally ruined, and 
every hope for which we struggled, blighted, I hoped 
to find comfort in his smiles. I found him wasted to 
a skeleton ; and it is only by a month of daily and 
hourly most anxious care (in which I was often as- 
sisted by memories of what Mrs. Greeley did for 
Pickie) that I have been able to restore him. But I 
hold him by a frail tenure ; he has the tendency to 
cough by which I was brought so low. 

" Adieu. You saj-^, pray for you ; oh, let us all 
pray together. I hope we shall yet find dear Pickie 



246 The MarcJiioness Ossoli. 

where he is ; that earthly blemishes will be washed 
out, and he be able to love us all. Till then, God 
help and guide us, dear friend. Amen. 

' "M. F. O. 

" You may address me in future as Marchioness 
Ossoli." 



CHAPTER XXII. 

The Friends' Seminary — The Principal Chappaqua Residences 
— Reminiscences of Paris during- the War — An Accom- 
plished Lady — Her Voice — Fasti vities — A Drive to Rye 
Lake — Making Tea on the Beach — A SaU at Sonset — Fort- 
une-telling- by Firelight— The Drive Home — Sunday 
Morning — A Row on the Pond — Dramatic Representations 
in the Bam — A Drive to Lake VVampas — Starlight Row. 

Axcgust 24. 
A VISIT last night from Mr. Collins, the Principal 
of Chappaqua Institute. This gentleman is one of 
our neighbors ; so when the duties of school hours are 
over, he frequently calls in to play a game of croquet, 
or to join in the evening rubber of whist, of which 
Marguerite and Gabrielle are so fond. I had often 
heard his name before he was introduced to us, and 
imagined, from his responsible position, that he must 
be some staid, gray-haired Quaker ; but, upon meeting 
him, I was surprised to discover that, although Prin- 
cipal of the " Friends' Seminary," he belonged to the 
** world's people " ; and was quite young enough to 
impress the more susceptible among his young lady 
pupils. 



248 Chappaqua Residences. 

August 27. 

In speaking of the handsome residences about and 
near Chappaqua, I have unintentionally overlooked one 
of the finest among them. It is situated about half- 
wa}^ between Chappaqua and Mount Kisco ; and so 
far as I can judge by a view from the road, the grounds 
are both extensive and well cultivated. The house 
stands back from the road, and is quite imbedded in 
trees, and the lawn and flower-beds are very prettily 
laid out. 

Upon asking Bernard one day, as we were driving 
to Mount Kisco, to whom this place belonged, he said 
that he had forgotten the owner's name, but believed 
he was now in Europe ; and it was not until quite 
recently that I ascertained it was the property of 
Mr. Elliott C. Cowdin, of New York City, Paris, or 
Westchester County. I really do not know which 
place to accredit to him as his residence. 

Yesterday Mr. Cowdin dined with us, and we had 
quite a merry time recalling our adventures upon 
leaving Paris in 1870. It was only three days before 
the battle of Sedan, when every one was rushing away 
from the doomed city, that we also decided to leave ; 
and Mr. Cowdin was very kind in helping us off\. 
We had many tribulations and delays in procuring 
our tickets, and having our luggage registered, for 
thousands were waiting in the Gare St. Lazare to 
escape from the range of Prussian shells ; but between 






Paris Reminiscences. 249 

the energy of Mr. Cowdin and his servant Harry, and 
the talismanic name of Washburne (for our ambas- 
sador had kindly given us his card to present at the 
ticket and freight offices), we succeeded in running 
the blockade much easier than we had anticipated. 
Once in the waiting-room, we seated ourselves upon 
our bags, for every chair had been taken hours before, 
and waited for the twelve o'clock train. We sat pa- 
tiently for an hour, and were then informed it would 
not start until six, for what reason we could not learn ; 
for French officials can never be induced to give you 
any information. 

At the close of another hour, we were not only 
white with alarm, supposing the Prussians were at the 
city gates, but were also in a starving condition, hav- 
ing eaten nothing since our eight o'clock breakfast of 
chocolate and rolls. What to do we did not know ; 
the doors of tlie waiting-room were closed, and despite 
the shrieks and frantic kicks of the terrified and 
penned-up passengers, no egress was permitted. Fi- 
nally, our party of five helpless women decided to ap- 
peal to Mr. Cowdin, feeling confident that he would 
devise some means to relieve our forlorn condition. 
A piteous note was accordingly written, informing 
him that we should be prisoners until six o'clock, and 
appealing to his American chivalry to come and share 
our confinement with us, and to fetch some bread and 
butter, of which we stood sorely in need. 



250 Aji Accomplished Lady. 

Among the employees of the station a messenger 
was found, and in less than an hour Mr. Cowdm's 
friendly face was seen, as ho made his way through 
the crowd, followed by the invaluable Harry with a 
basket. An impromptu table-cloth, consisting of 
newspapers, was spread upon the floor, and we gath- 
ered about our feast, the other passengers meantime 
eying us hungrily, as roast chicken, Bordeaux, and 
a four-pound loaf appeared from the basket. 

That was my last meal in Paris, and although the 
circumstances appeared very amusing as we talked 
them over with Mr. Cowdin yesterday, they were any- 
thing but entertaining at that time, expecting momen- 
tarily as we did that a shell would explode among 
us. 

August 31. 

I have just returned from a walk to the station to 
meet our friend, Mrs. George Oilman, whom we ex- 
pected would spend the day with us, but found instead 
a note from her saying that ill-health would prevent 
her from visiting us at present. 

Mrs. Oilman is a dear friend of ours, and a charm- 
ing and accomplished woman. Her elegant drawing- 
rooms upon Lexington Avenue are a resort for not 
only the fashionable world, but a favorite rendezvous 
for the principal vocalists and pianists of the city, for 
Mrs. Oilman is perhaps the only amateur in New 
York society whose voice equals Carlotta Patti's in 



Visitors. 251 

extent, and the ease with which her flute-like tones 
reach G in alt. Her voice has been carefully trained 
by many of the great New York masters, and has 
also had the advantage of Paris instruction. There- 
fore we may congratulate ourselves that we possess in 
private life, one who would make so admirable a 
prima donna. 

September 6. 

My journal, about which I am usually so conscien- 
tious, has been neglected for nearly a week, for we 
have had a succession of visitors, and my time has 
been entirely taken up with drives, games of croquet, 
and starlight walks. 

On Saturday, several friends came up with papa in 
the morning train ; some merely to pass the day, and 
others to make a longer stay with us. Mr. James 
Parton, the well-known author, had not visited dear 
Chappaqua in twenty years, and was desirous of see- 
ing the changes that time had effected in this lovely 
spot. Others, too, were visiting us for the first time, 
and preferred to see the wild, picturesque beauties of 
the place, rather than to drive, ride, or play croquet ; 
consequently the company soon divided. One party 
strolled off throudi the woods, and followed the 
course of the brook up to our tiny cascade — now, 
however, swollen by the heavy rains we have recently 
had into quite a noisy and impetuous waterfall, while 
others who had earlier in the season spent long morn- 



252 Rye Lake. 

ings with us under the pines and beneath the oaks 
on the side-hill, now enrolled themselves in Gabrielle's 
regiment, confident that she would lead them to a 
glorious victory on the field of croquet. 

We did not assemble again until our two o'clock 
dinner, and as soon as that meal was over, we started 
upon the long-contemplated picnic to Rye Lake. A 
large six-seated carriage and a pair of stout horses had 
been hired, and Ida's own phaeton and ponies were 
also at the door to convey our party to that most 
romantic sheet of water. 

Every seat in the two conveyances was occupied, 
and all the available corners were filled with tightly 
packed baskets, containing charcoal and pine-cones 
to kindle a fire upon the smooth beach, tea-kettles 
and teapots, table linen, dishes and provisions. The 
drive was one of the most delightful that we have yet 
had, and was heightened by the dreamy haze of au- 
tumn, that is now faintly perceptible. 

The lake is private property, and picnics are 
frowned upon; however, the most attractive gentle- 
man in our party was sent to ask permission for us 
to pass the afternoon there, and a cordial assent was 
quickly granted. 

A well-trimmed sward, shaded by fine old oaks, 
was selected as the most suitable place to lay the 
cloth, and then, to pass away the time until six 
o'clock, several of the party went out in a row-boat. 



Tea Under the Tree. 253 

We were absent an hour or more, playing cards, sing- 
ing, and drifting about ; now and then grazing a rock, 
or narrowly escaping an vipset, owing to the dispro- 
portion of weight among the passengers, and at sunset 
returned to our encampment. Here we found a 
blazing fire, and the tea-kettle singing joyously. An 
extensive meal was spread upon a neat white cloth, 
and we grouped about it upon our bright carriage 
rugs, so like leopard skins with their black spots upon 
a yellow ground. Hot tea was a very agreeable sub- 
stitute for the lemonade that generally forms the bev- 
erage at picnics, and as we all had excellent appetites, 
the meal passed off very pleasantly. 

" What are we to do now ! " inquired one restless 
being, as we walked down to the beach, leaving Ber- 
nard to consume the debris of the feast and collect the 
dishes. 

" I think this fire so comfortable," said one of the 
young ladies, *' that I mean to remain beside it, as it 
is now dark and rather chill." 

" Let us play whist by the firelight," was suggested 
by those who had not been out in the boat. 

" Or, better still, have our fortunes told by its 
light," said Ida, throwing a couple of branches upon 
the burning coals. 

" Delightful ! " exclaimed Marguerite. " I have 
not forgotten that we have among us a Gypsy Queen, 
whose predictions are always realized ; " turning to a 



254 Fortune- telliitg. 

pretty blonde, whose delicate features and sunny curls 
testified that she was only a gypsy through her talent 
for unveiling the future to her friends. 

The rugs were accordingly spread out upon the 
beach, and we gather-ed about the fire whilst the cards 
were being shuffled and cut for the past, present, and 
future. A weird sight it was, and one that the great 
Hembrandt would have delighted to paint : a back- 
ground of dark, silent trees, before us the motionless 
lake, illumined by the silver crescent then setting, 
while the faint glimmer of starlight, and the fiery glow 
of the burning wood, lit up the face of our young 
seeress, as with a puzzled brow, but a pretty air of 
faith, she bent over the talismanic cards. 

In turn our fortunes were all told, and not a little 
wonder was excited when some hidden page of the 
past, as a former engagement, or a never-mentioned 
marriage, was disclosed. 

One young man was told that he would live hap- 
pily, but always be poor — a destiny that he received 
with a droll air of resignation and philosophy ; while 
another was warned to beware of a blonde enemy, 
causing him to recoil with a look of mock terror from 
the fair-haired Philippe Hubert who sat beside him. 

An elegant young Englishman was alternately in- 
spirited and depressed, by hearing that an uncle in 
India was about to leave him a legacy, and that a 
tailor's bill of many years' standing was now upon its 



A Starlight Drive. 255 

way to him, whilst for all the young ladies a brilliant 

future was predicted. 

My fortune was, however, quite mysterious. I was 

told to beware of a male enemy, and two rivals, a 

blonde and a brunette, and was in imminent danger 

of poison. I was soon to be engaged to a poor man, 

but was to marry a millionnaire, who would leave me 

a widow at the end of five years' time. Whether I 

was then to 

" — marry my own love," 

the oracle did not disclose. 

Then ensued the long drive home. The air was 
chill but exhilarating, and we sung and told ghost 
stories, and were astonished, when at last we dashed 
through a white gate, to. find ourselves at home once 
more. It was ten o'clock the next morning before we 
were all assembled at the breakfast-table, and we had 
scarcely risen from our last cups of coffee, when a 
couple of friends arrived upon the slow Sunday train. 
How we were now to amuse ourselves was the ques- 
tion, for the proximity of a church compelled very 
quiet demeanor. Finally we had a brilliant idea : the 
stone barn which had been filled only a few days pre- 
vious with fresh, sweet hay, would be just the place 
to spend the morning. Accordingly wo walked up 
thei'e, pausing, however, on the way for a row on the 
pond in our pretty blue boat, and then ensued two 
charming hours. We mounted the hay-loft, and 



256 Lake Wampas. 

nestled down in the soft mounds (to the detriment of 
our black dresses, by the way, for upon emerging we 
were covered with burrs and straws), and being far 
from reproving ears we sung both sacred and secular 
music, and laughed at a droll impersonation of Fech- 
ter's Claude — 

" Ah ! false one. 
It is ze Prince zow lovest, not ze man," etc., 

and an equally comic burlesque upon Forrest, and 
were very sorry to learn that the carriages were wait- 
ing to take us to Lake Wampas. 

" A new lake ? " inquired a friend who had already 
accompanied us to Rye and Croton Lakes ; " i^ray 
how many does Westchester County possess ? " 

Each new one is of course the prettiest, and beauti- 
ful as E,ye Lake had been the previous night under 
the influence of the setting sun, and starlight, we all 
decided that Lake Wampas was simply perfect. 

Dinner was ready upon our return, and before the 
dessert was placed upon the table a warning whistle 
was heard, and several of our friends were obliged to 
bid us a hasty adieu, and rush through Bischoff's gar- 
den to catch the train. 

In the evening we walKed uj) to the pond for a row 
among the water-lilies by starlight. There we found 
the bonny blue boat awaiting us, but the oars had 
disappeared. Whether Bernard disapproved of water- 
parties on Sunday, or had merely put the oars away 



Rowing iLiidcr Difficitlties. 257 

for safety, we could not tell, but having gone so far, 
we were determined not to be disappointed, so we em- 
barked, and with an old garden-rake, and a long pole 
to propel the boat, we succeeded, at all events, in 
having a very laughable row. 

The next morning our friends left us ; the play-days 
were over, and we once more settled ourselves to study. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

Marriag-e of a Cousin — A Pretty Bride— Letters — Home Cir- 
cle Complete — A Letter of Adventures — Wedding Cards — 
A Musical Marriage — Housekeeping- under DiflQculties — 
Telegraphic Blunders— A Bust of Mr. Greeley — More Visit- 
ors. 

September 10. 

A LETTER yesterday from our cousin Estclle Gree- 
ley, signed, however, by a new name, for she was 
married last week. Estelle is Aunt Arminda's 
youngest daughter, and although not yet eighteen, was 
before the death of Theresa's children a great-aunt. 
She sent us her picture, taken with her husband. She 
is a very pretty girl, with large, dreamy, blue eyes, 
and lashes so long and dark as to cast deep shadows — 
a languishing effect often produced on city belles by 
artificial means. Her hair is of that sunny brown 
shade peculiar to so many of our cousins, and she has 
hitherto worn it floating over her shoulders a la belle 
sauvage y but now I suppose she thinks so negligee 
and girlish a coiffure incompatible with her new dig- 
nity as a married woman, for I observed in her picture 
that it was wreathed into an imposing diadem braid. 

Although Estelle is rather young to have married, 



Marriage^ of a Cousin. 259 

the match has received the cordial approbation of the 
entire family. She was married at home, but has now- 
gone to live at Columbus, Pennsylvania, where her 
father-in-law is a prominent merchant. Her letter 
was full of enthusiasm over her happiness, but I was 
glad to learn that she did not intend, like so many 
young brides, to give up her music in the excitement 
of her new married life. 

Our mail was not large this morning, for our friends 
are now returning to the city, and are busy with the 
demands of upholsterers and dress-makers in anticipa- 
tion of the gayeties of the coming season ; some few, 
however, are still enjoying this delicious September 
weather by the seaside or inland. 

Our friend, Mrs. Cutler, the pretty Virginia novel- 
ist and society star, is now in Westchester Count}^, 
and promises us a visit very soon. She speaks with 
deep feeling of the pleasure it will afford her to visit 
dear uncle's loved home, and in conclusion sends many 
kind messages to mamma's " bouquet of girls." 

One of my most intimate friends. Marguerite 
Aymar, after having visited several watering-places, 
and contributed sparkling letters to different New 
York journals this summer, has now come to West- 
chester County to pass aw^ay quietly the remainder of 
the season, and gather up strength for her literary 
labors during the coming winter. I learn by a letter 
received from her yesterday, that she is boai'ding 



26o Home Circle Complete. 

within driving distance of Ohappaqua — a very agree- 
able prospect for me, for Marguerite and I are much 
given to long talks together, and are very fond of an 
exchange of ideas over our many literary plans. 

Miss Ay mar is a clever young writer, by no means 
confining herself to the graceful poems, stories, and 
sketches that she dashes off with such ease, but evinc- 
insj talent and tact in her more thoughtful magazine 
articles. She is now, she tells me, at work upon a 
novel. 

September 13. 

Our home circle is once more complete, for Mrs. 
Lamson, who left us some weeks ago to visit friends 
in Connecticut, has now returned to remain with us 
until we go down to the city. 

Mrs. Lamson was one of dear uncle's earliest 
friends, their acquaintance dating back indeed to the 
days of Poultney — and we are all deeply attached to 
her. 

September 15. 

Arthur's name, I believe, has not yet been men- 
tioned in my journal since he left us early in August. 
He is a very tormenting correspondent, for he never 
writes with the promptitude that would be agreeable, 
but his letters when they do come are always enter- I 
taining, and one that arrived this morning, detailing 
his adventures since his departure from Ohappaqua, 
we found especially so. Before making some extracts 



Letter of Adventures. 261 

from it, I must explain that he left us to join a num- 
ber of young men from Chappaqua, headed by our 
neighbor, Mr. Carpenter, who were to camp out at 
Rye Beach, and indulge in unlimited fishing parties. 
This out-of-doors life delighted Arthur, accustomed as 
he had been to foot journeys in Europe, and when 
the party broke up he bought a waterproof suit, hired 
a boat and a tent, and rowed up the Sound to Boston, 
where he lives, sleeping meantime on land or in his 
boat, as best suited his caprice. I will now give his 
exploits in his own words. 

" I remained on the beach some time after Mr. 
Carpenter and the others left, caught and made food 
of many fishes, and came near making myself food 
for them, for in hauling up anchor in a rough sea I 
tipped out of the boat, but luckily saved myself by 
clutching its side, and lifting myself in at imminent 
risk of turning the whole concern bottom upwards. 

" Being wrapped in slumber on the rocks one night 
with a big fire burning beside me, my bed of dry sea- 
weed caught fire, and woke me by its fierce breath ; 
but escaping an evil fate for the present, I came safely 
home to Boston, which I felt keen joy to see once 
more. 

" I have gone into the office of a lawyer here, and 
am engaged in the delightful occupation of ' sooing 
folks ' (as the old fellow pronounces it). You may 
imagine me seated on the extreme top of a high stool, 



262 A Musical Marriage. 

forging like a young Cyclops with malignant pleasure, 
the writs and summonses which are presently to be 
flourished by the Sheriff in the face of the astonished 
Defendant." 

Among our other letters this morning was a pack- 
age from. London containing the dainty wedding- 
cards of a beautiful young American pianist (Teresa 
Carreuo) and her handsome violinist husband, accom- 
panied by a long letter from the bride. The letter 
was overflowing with happiness, and the naivete with 
which she described all the little annoyances of her 
new married life, and especially the trials of a young 
housekeeper, was quite delicious. Her furniture had 
not yet come' from Paris, and there were but two 
chairs in the parlor ; consequently, when a visitor 
came, her husband was obliged to stand, she said, with 
the greatest ceremony. She sat by the kitchen table 
to write to me, and the cook overturned her ink, 
making a blot upon the page : all of these little de- 
tails made up a perfect picture of her life. Of course 
the letter was full of " my husband," and the signa- 
ture was no longer the impulsive, girlish — " With a 
thousand kisses, my darling, ever your own Teresita," 
but a decorous and matronly ending : " Yours affec- 
tionately, Teresa Oarreno Sauret." 

Two more letters by the evening mail ; one having 
the features of the " Re Galantuomo " upon the post- 
age stamps, is from a young American music student 



Telegraphic Blunders. 263 

in Florence, a pupil of Hans Yon Billow, who will, 
upon her return to her own country, be known as one 
of our finest amateur pianists. 

There is also a letter from our estimable friend. Miss 
Booth, the accomplished Editress of Harper's Bazar. 
She will spend next Saturday with us, accompanied 
by her friend, Mrs. Wright. 

September 20. 

Ida went down to the city yesterday, to see both 
her lawyer and dress-maker, saying that she would re- 
turn by the half-past six o'clock train. We went 
down accordingly to meet the cars, but she did not 
arrive upon them ; a telegram, however, was shortly 
sent up to the house, announcing that she would come 
on the eight o'clock train, accompanied by Mrs. and 
Miss Wiss. 

" Mrs. Wiss ! " exclaimed mamma, upon reading 
the telegram, '•' who can she be ? I do not know any 
such person." 

Gabrielle could not remember any one by the name 
of Wiss among Ida's friends, and suggested that the 
ladies might be old friends of her father's, whom Ida 
had never before seen ; so remarking that the eight 
o'clock train was a late one for ladies to travel upon 
alone, mamma rang for Minna, and told her to delay 
our tea an hour and a half longer. 

When we heard the footsteps of the travellers upon 
the piazza, we all went out with some curiosity to 



264 Vinnie Ream. 

meet our unknown visitors. For a moment we were 
speechless, as we recognized in the matron of the 
party, Ida's charming Southern friend, Mrs. Ives, and 
in the tall young man (her son) who accompanied her, 
the supposed Miss Wiss. How the telegraph operator 
could have so confused the names, no one could 
imagine. 

Mrs. Ives is a brilliant talker, and a woman of 
great polish and high family connections. She has 
lived North for several years, but will return to Balti- 
more this winter to our great regret, for her pictur- 
esque home near the Manhattan ville Convent was a 
most delightful place to spend an hour, while listening 
to the entertaining conversation of the hostess, and 
the exquisite harp-playing of her sister. 

September 25. 
A letter this morning from the little sculptress, 
Yinnie Ream. She is at Washington, and writes 
me that she has sold her bust of dear uncle to the 
Cornell University. I have not seen the bust since it 
was put into marble, but when I saw it in clay at her 
New York studio two years ago, I considered it a 
spirited and excellent likeness. Yinnie is full of the 
high courage that never deserts her through all of 
her trials from public and private criticism, and 
she has my best wishes for a bright and successful 
future. 



A Pianoforte Student. 265 

September 28. 

Two arrivals by the morning train : Mrs. Gibbons, 
a friend of many years of dear uncle, Aunt Mary, and 
mamma, and a lady at whose hospitable residence 
uncle often found a pleasant home, when his family 
were absent, and Lucy White, an intimate friend of 
Ida and myself. 

Miss White has just i-etarned fi'om a three months' 
visit to Europe, and she gave us a very lively account 
of her gay season in London, and her visit to Paris. 
I was glad to learn from her that my favorite Italian 
and Spanish pictures again occupied their accustomed 
places in the Salon Carre at the Louvre, and that the 
diadem mode of dressing the hair, so becoming to my 
tiny figure, was by no means out of style in Paris, but 
was, on the contrary, more fashionable than ever. 

September 30. 

A letter this morning from Katie Sinclair. I re- 
joice to learn that her health is improving, for, when 
we visited her some weeks ago, her cheeks were almost 
as white as the pillows upon which they rested. 

We were disappointed that we could not hear Katie 
sing that day, for we had anticipated quite a little 
musical matinee ; but her sister Mary, who is an en- 
thusiastic pianoforte student, made amends by playing 
with much taste and expression, a dreamy " Melody," 
by Pubenstein. 
12 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

" All that's Bright must Fade " — Departures — Preparing the 
House for the Winter — Page's Portrait of Pickie — Packing 
up — Studious Habits of the Domestics — The Cook and her 
Admirers — Adieu to Chappaqua. 

October 1. 

"All that's bright must fade." 

This long, delightful summer is now over, and the 
time approaches for us to return to the din and whirl 
of city life. 

Miss Worthington left us this morning to return to 
her beautiful Southern home, and Gabrielle, too, has 
gone back to the quiet of her convent school, guided 
by the Protestant Sisters of St. Mary. 

Ida is busily counting, and packing away the dainty 
china and silver, suggestive of so many pleasant 
gatherings of friends that we have had this summer, 
and Minna has brought down from the store-room 
large chests to contain the heavy linen sheets with 
Aunt Mary's initials beautifully embroidered in 
scarlet. 

The guest-room and the parlors commence to wear a 
dismantled look, for one by one the pretty trifles that 
ornamented them are being removed, and although 



Pages Portrait of Pickie. 267 

many of the pictures still hang upon the walls, dear 
little Pickie's portrait stands in an unoccupied bed- 
room swathed in linen, and ready to journey to the 
city when we do, for Ida prizes it so highly that she 
will not box it up and send it by express, but intends 
to have one of the servants carry it under her super- 
vision, lest some harm may befall it. I do not wonder 
that it is priceless to her ; I also think it of inestima- 
ble value, for not only is it a portrait of the beautiful 
little cousin whom I never saw, but even one unin- 
terested in Pickie would, I am sure, be attracted by it 
as a rare work of art. It is a full-length picture : 
the child holds in his hands a cluster of lilies — a fit 
emblem of his spotless purity, and his undraped limbs 
are perfectly moulded as those of an infant St. John. 
His hair, of the hue that Titian and Tintoretto loved 
to paint, falls upon his shoulders like a shower of 
ruddy gold, and for depth of tone and richness of color 
the picture more resembles the work of one of the old 
Venetian Masters than a painting by modern hands. 

Whilst in town the other day, I called in the Tenth 
Street Studio Buildings to ask Mr. Pasje when he 
could give a few days of his time to restoring Pickie's 
portrait, as it has been somewhat affected by the 
dampness during the years that it has stood in the 
house in the woods. Mr. Page gave me a very amus- 
ing account of the difficulty he experienced in obtain- 
ing sittings from Pickie. 



268 Preparing the House 

" Young children," he said, " are always averse to 
having their portraits painted, and there is usually a 
struggle to induce them to submit to the confine- 
ment of posing for me ; but in Master Pickie's case, 
the child was so full of life that I might almost as 
well have tried to obtain sittings from a butterfly as 
from him." 

Pickie's rapid illness and sudden death occurred 
before the picture was completed, and although Mr. 
Page worked upon it for some time from memory and 
from daguerrotypes of the child, a few finishing 
touches remain to be added. 

October 3. 

This morning I at last realized what I have been 
endeavoring to banish from my mind — that the day of 
our departure from dear Chappaqua is at hand. This 
fact was brought home to me in a very practical man- 
ner by the arrival of our immense French trunks from 
the side-hill house, where they have been stored this 
summer, and the necessity of packing them, coupled with 
an intimation from mamma that it would be as well to 
put my books and music in the bottom, and my dresses 
in the top of my trunk. I am somewhat of a novice 
in packing, for during the preparations for our eight 
ocean voyages that duty never once fell to my lot ; 
however I flatter myself that such very elementary in- 
structions were not necessary. 

Quite tenderly I took down from tne shelves the 



for the Winter. 269 

books that I had brought from New York for sum- 
mer reading, for mingled with every page was some 
pleasant association. One chapter in Kohlrausch's 
'' Germany " seemed still to retain the faint perfume of 
the pale primroses that I gathered in the meadow that 
day to mark my stopping-place, and my little volume 
of Voltaire's " Charles Douze " recalled an interesting 
argument upon the relative claims to greatness of 
that hero, and my hero par excellence, the first Napo- 
leon. 

My ponderous volumes of Plato brought before my 
mind Arthur's reading, and the life with which he 
invested the words of these old-time philosophers that 
had so keen an interest for him ; while Madame de 
Stael's "Allemagne," and my little copy of Ehlert's 
"Letters on Music" were associated with almost 
every hour of the day. They had lain upon my 
writing-table the entire summer, and it was my habit 
whenever I laid down my pen for a moment to take 
up one book or the other, and glance at a page of 
Ehlert's criticisms upon opera, symphony, or song, or 
Madame de Stael's profound essays upon art, morals, 
and politics. 

This long summer has been one of great sweetness 
and content to us all. A tinge of sadness has, it is 
true, been mingled with our daily life, but we have 
felt the spiritual presence of our loved ones always 
near us, urging and encouraging us to persevere and 



270 Studious Servants. 

fit ourselves to join them hereafter. With this feeling 
we have worked constantly and closely, and our record 
of improvement has been somewhat satisfactory — to 
ourselves at least. We have gone through the weighty 
volumes that we had given ourselves as summer tasks > 
we liave written and practised ; and, although Minna 
constantly exclaims upon our close attention to stud}'^, 
a desire for improvement has extended (unconsciously 
to ourselves) from the parlor to the kitchen. Going 
down there one night to give some orders for the next 
day, I was amused by overhearing Lina say, " It is 
time to go to school now." Immediately Minna's bright- 
colored knitting was laid aside, and the two women drew 
up to the table with their books. After studying their 
English lesson, they recited it to each other, followed 
by a brief reciprocal lesson of Swedish and German. 

Bernard also had his book, and was studying with 
great apparent industry, although in what foreign 
tongue he was accomplishing himself I do not know. 
Perhaps he was trying to master the intricacies of the 
German language, that he might offer himself to Minna 
through the medium of her own tongue. I was 
amused to see that he occupied what might be called 
the neutral ground, at a table lighted by a flickering 
candle, and at an equal distance from his sweetheart 
and his foe ; for since Bernard has commenced to take 
moonlight strolls with Minna, Lina has taken deadly 
umbrage, which she manifests by giving him candle- 



Liita's Admirers. 271 

ends, cutting off liis supply of coffee, and reducing his 
comforts generally. 

At first I felt quite sorry for Lina, so completely 
excluded as she was at one time from the society of 
the other two, especially as she was much older than 
Minna, and not at all prepossessing in appearance ; 
but since I have learned that she has in the village 
four Swedish admirers who make her weekly visits, I 
have ceased to waste any sympathy upon her. We 
were quite amazed one Sunday afternoon to see four 
stalwart blond men wending their way kitchen-wards, 
and inquiring in broken English for " Swedish girl; " 
for of all places our quiet little Chappaqua is the last 
one where we would have thought of seeing any of 
Lina's compatriots. These men, it seems, are em- 
ployed in repairing the railroad track ; and learning 
that they had a countrywoman in the village, called 
to make her acquaintance ; so Lina can now triumph 
over Minna. I have heard from Minna that each 
one of the four men has already offered himself 
to Lina, and that she refused them, remarking, how- 
ever, that she knew a girl in New York who would 
like to marry one of them. The men thanked her, 
but thought the distance rather too great to go for a 
wife. 

Despite their little difference over Bernard, the two 
women have lived together quite amicably this sum- 
mer ; and it has been a great relief to dear Ida, while 



2/2 Last Day in Chappaqua. 

so gracefully presiding as mistress of the house, to 
feel that harmony reigned in the kitchen. 

October 5. 

Our last day in dear Chappaqua ; we go down 
to the city to-morrow morning. How dread is the 
thought of leaving the poetic quiet of our country 
home, to return to the confusion and excitement of 
city life ; that city, too, that will be fraught with such 
sad memories for us during the last days of October 
and November. 

How quickly it has gone, this long, sweet summer. 
I cannot realize that near five months have passed 
since that bright May morning that we arrived here, 
and found dear Chappaqua in all her tender spring 
freshness. Imperceptibly the days have flown; the 
delicate hues of leafy May have deepened and gone ; 
the summer is over, and autumn with her glowing 
tints has stolen upon us. Now in vain do we hunt 
for daisies to pull apart petal by petal with the old 
Erench rhyme that every schoolgirl knows, 

" II m'aime un peu — beaucoup, 
Passionement, — pas du tout ! " 

The daisies have gone with the sweet double violets 
and roses, and the fragrant heliotrope and mignonette, 
of which we used to make bouquets to dress the table 
and adorn the rooms ; whilst brilliant, scentless flow- 



Adieu. 273 

ers now fill our garden beds, and the maples with 
their aureolas of flame color and molten gold tell 
the same sad story — summer has fled. 

For the last time I have walked up to the pine 
grove, and have taken leave of that spot where dear 
uncle's feet have so often trodden, and said farewell, 
too, to the forest trees whose trunks still bear the im- 
press of the axe once wiekled by that hand now for- 
ever at rest ; I have drunk once more from the spring 
that Aunt Mary so dearly loved, and which is far 
sweeter to me than the vaunted waters of Trevi, and 
entered for the last time her loved home in the woods 
over whose threshold her weary feet will never pass 
again. 

" Tempo passato, perche non ritorni a rae ? " 

Adieu to Cbappaqua and to my journal. My 
daintily bound volume, so large that I feared not 
easily to fill its pages, is closely covered, and only a 
few blank lines remain whereon to take leave of it 
forever. Adieus are always saddening, and I close it 
with the words unspoken. 

And for dear, dear Chappaqua, I can find no words 
more fitting to express my love than those verses 
written, it is true, in honor of another Westchester 
Home, but so appropriate that I will insert them 
here, trusting their author, Mr. John Savage, will 
pardon me for so doing. 
13* 



274 Poem. 



OUR DEAR WESTCHESTER HOME. 

Where'er my hopeful fancy dares, 

Or toiling footstep falls — 
Through ancient cities' thoroughfares 

Or Fortune's festal halls ; 
O'er mountains grand, through forests deep, 
Or crest the yielding foam, 
I find no spot 
Like that dear cot. 
My own Westchester Home ! 



Bedecked with every sylvan charm, 

By loving Nature blest, 
Embraced between the ocean's arm 
And Hudson's bounteous breast, 
Westchester, in her beauty smiles 
To Heaven's protecting dome. 
For all the good 
By field or flood 
That crowns our happy home ! 



THE END. 



31^77-2 



